First Strawberry II, Minneapolis, Minnesota, June 2008, photo © 2008 by
QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
June — every year she embraces Summer Solstice, holds the light in the palm of her hand. June is the month of bleeding hearts, peonies, strawberries and tea roses.
At Solstice, a friend pulled a necklace from around her neck and gently placed it on the birch fire; it was of green strawberry caps she had sewn together one by one. This morning at 7am, she is heading out to a Minnesota farm to pluck the last of this season’s strawberries.
I watched the Moon carefully in June, paid homage to the longer light of the Sun. I tried to stay present to the Moon’s many faces. Days she held her ground opposite the brighter, bolder Sun. (Why can we see the moon in the daytime?) Nights when moonlight was so bright, it woke me out of a dead sleep.
Yesterday morning, when I went to do June’s moonwriting, this poem came out. It was written stream of consciousness, like Writing Practice. I’ll call it a Practice Poem, a work in progress. I did only light editing, a few revisions. I don’t claim to be a poet. But some days poetry tugs at me, and something takes hold.
Strawberry Moon
plucky June, Strawberry Moon
creeps through a slit in the blinds
2:30 a.m. (wake up call)
crawls in and out of my dreams
sandpaper white, curdling violet
unsure of what it means, I duck behind a cloud
rain pummels the peonies, silent dance between ant and bloom
wise beyond her years, the Moon doesn’t have to bother
with what she does or doesn’t understand
in the morning, sitting on cloistered heels
directly opposite the sun, 6-inch spikes in a medium sky
you’ll recognize her muted fire
solar light reflections, created for perfect balance
— human chaos and confusion
everyone hates each other, no one gets along
not even the Democrats can agree,
a handshake and a smile do not cover
old wounds and battle scars
the clean slice of a wrist before dawn.
No longer that desperate,
I used to be — hidden under dirty compost
of wormy black soil, the moon a lighthouse;
I must have seen something, a spark
inching past strips of cedar bark,
lawn clippings after the blade
the Algonquins didn’t question
her power, or rename her “rose”
red is the color of the June moon
as fierce as she is peaceful
don’t underestimate the stillness
6th moon,
moon when the berries are good
turning moon, full leaf moon
christening the strawberries, greening the leaves
ripening my summers
with things I have yet to know.
-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, July 5th, 2008
-related to posts: PRACTICE – Blossom Moon – 15min, winter haiku trilogy
What a delight, QM! I’m thinking that since we’ve turned over into Cancer, you are getting a real creative burst. Does it feel that way to you?
Hey, did you notice that one of the auto-generated posts that WordPress included under “Possibly related posts” is titled Strawberry Moon and authored by our friend and fellow blogger mariacristina? Cool, eh?
So glad that this poem flowed out of you. It feels flowing. So much vibrancy. These terms called to me:
curdling violet
silent dance between ant and bloom
sitting on cloistered heels
directly opposite the sun, 6-inch spikes in a medium sky
And I especially loved this stanza:
6th moon,
moon when the berries are good
turning moon, full leaf moon
christening the strawberries, greening the leaves
ripening my summers
with things I have yet to know.
Also, your term “moonwriting” seems most appropriate. I like it a lot. 8)
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ybonesy, I feel a huge creative burst, on fire with ideas, images, energy for my work. As much as Summer is not my favorite season of the year, July, month of my birth, is a high time for me energetically. I guess it’s in the stars.
I had not read Christine’s post until you pointed it out to me. Nor did I know about it until the auto-generated posts surfaced. That’s pretty cool. The Moon inspires. We are all staring at the same Moon.
And thanks for pointing out the lines you liked. Some of those things, I don’t know where they came from. I really did write the poem much like a Writing Practice. And later I read it and said to myself — hmmm, I had no idea you felt that way. And some of the images that surfaced are kind of dark, not something I am even thinking about. But there they were.
I plan to ride the creative burst for as far as it will take me. I’m going on a long trip in July and I am positive my pen won’t be able to keep up with everything I want to write. I’ll have to make a lot of notes!
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Strawberries have a special place in my heart.
My grandfather had the third-largest strawberry patch in the county. I can remember being four or five and picking plump berries under a blue, blue sky.
Eating them a few decades later still brings back that memory.
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Stevo, that’s a really great food memory of your grandfather. And you were only 4 or 5 years old. The smell and taste of food is powerful. Good compost for writing.
I have a friend with a strawberry tattoo on one of her shoulders. I think she got it when she was in her early 20’s. I never asked her what it was connected to. A food memory. Or if she just loved the shape and color of strawberries.
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You are a poet, QM, no doubt. Your prose is poetry too. Funny, i also wrote about the Strawberry Moon, and I had a similar experience of being woken in the middle of a deep sleep, with a gright moon staring me full in the face. Love your writing.
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Christine, thank you. I just went back to read your poem again. A ripening there, too. It’s pretty cool that your poem came up in the “Possible related posts:” link after I posted this.
I’ve really enjoyed these monthly moonwriting practices this year. I just went back and read the first one in January and realized that there are some great comments there. A couple from my mother about my grandmothers on her side. I need to print those before I head to Georgia in a few weeks. I had forgotten about them.
There is so much going on in the sky every night, right over our heads.
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Ah, we ate the first strawberries of the year last night. They are bright and red and juicy. YUM. And the cherries are ripening, too. Need to get down and pick them before the birds beat us to it. When I reread the poem in this Strawberry Moon post, it feels like it needs some work. More revision, like Donald Hall would recommend. The new Strawberry Moon was yesterday. We are on our way to July.
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[…] to posts: Strawberry Moon, haiku 2 […]
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