On a Spring tide *Cyclical poetry

On a Spring tide

(Cyclical poetry - attempting to write every month on the first day of my bleed. Please omit if not your jam. 😂)

The moon slithers,
tumbles across the, wide as ocean, sky
and I howl up to her, in her glory
still,
as only days before
when choruses howled up, up at the Penumbral
cloaked in cloud. Give gutteral
thanks in my smallness,
for the bleed suffering within my womb,
walls collapsing in, storms rushing through
as if carried upon a Spring tide.
The neap tide is a-coming.
I hold my stomach,
shuddering against over indulgence that never does
numb the aching,
yet home remains.
An ache in the back, in the hips, in the wrists, in the mind all quite quietly grieving a loss.
It was never wanted and not used
but a loss of opportunity,
of female,
of ownership
and youth.
I place cloth against flesh, attach between thighs and allow the relief to wash over, to reel me in and comfort me.
I allow the gentility of my being to send me back out into reality,
to give itself over to acceptance.
I lift a pencil from the dresser and imprint
on my lunar calendar the day. A small grey speck on a pale circle
becomes a sum of my parts, history of creation or not creating.
The recording of patterns
brings a pleasure
a cycle unmarked cannot.