Me and the moon
Someone laughed awkwardly at a comment that was not a joke. Was it funny? She asked herself, and resigned to believe that perhaps it was subject to interpretation like most things are. Do not allow me to get caught up in semantics and word choice, she said to herself. Ultimately she decided not to answer. Her peace which she had been. A thing in all morning was disrupted by this laughter and it bothered her that she was bothered. Why has this upset your calm, she inquired of herself? It just has. She fell into the sea folded and submersed watching the sky grow cloudy and more distant. She stayed there until her lungs burned and her feet touched the sand. The Caribbean is not very deep. Peace these days felt like floating on her back under the Jamaican sun, if not the moon.
She relaxed her body and rise to the surface. She wiped her eyes and tasted the salty damp on her lips. She stretched out her arms and lay flat on the water void once again of any disruption. The hot air dried the top of her leaving only salty sand glistening on her dark skin. She searched the sky for the moon to tell it a story. It lay hiding in the Far East corner distantly trailing the sun. She said matter-of-factly, there will come many things between us which make me want to run and hide, but I will always come back to you. If I pause, pull me as you do the ocean tides. I will respond to you.
The moon did not answer outright but she felt that he'd heard her. And as he moved higher in the sky cloaking her body in milky light she closed her eyes and rested. Naked though she was, no suit to cover up her glory; She had long since grown tired of apologizing for her divine femininity. She basked unapologetically at peace. This, home, she thought, is worthy of countless return.