The moon is evanescent and elusive tonight--like love.
She shines brightly on me now, but in a moment
She'll vanish behind those muslin clouds,
Layers of white cray paper glued to a cobalt board,
A child's art project, awaiting mother's approving smile.

Her white light reassures me that the sun still is there,
That these moonlit years of mine will reach the dawn;
For I am a moondaughter, dwelling in a shadowland;
The years have been dark, and I, lost in the night,
Have stumbled along a lonesome, twisted path.

There is something in the moonlight that calls to me,
That reminds me I am mysterious as she,
Alive with the luminescence that brings her light to me.
Is it because I am woman she draws me so?
She summons me; where, I do not know.

For I merely follow reflected light,
Like my million moonsisters, candles in the night
Processing to the altar of bloody sacrifice.
For like the moon, our lives are lost and won
By reflecting the light and life of the sun.

Marianne Farrar


I found this poem on Pleiades Writer's Circle: Women & Writing, Poetry

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