A Poem by Margaret Gish Miller

Blood Moon Weather
    
Tomorrow an eclipse is
forecast so I eat fiber bars--
it’s Indian Summer & I’m sixty-

 

seven-years-old:
no period in sight.
I feel great grief

 

for Cooper who lost
his Grandma Joan
Rivers. In last night’s

 

dream I embraced him,
the gift of grandsons
tumbling into adolescence.

 

Know his loss his loss his loss

 

Now I’m falling
asleep. . .sighing into
the comfort of my body, grateful

 

to be free of cramps-bloat
endometriosis--that malady
mimicking labor pains--

 

the uterus shredding itself--
shedding a month of Sundays
44 years worth with nothing

 

to show for it, except your friend,
the curse. No more!
Just a blood-red sky & great relief

 

in long baths dreaming
of whirlpools
available at Lowe’s,

 

a therapeutic necessity, these brittle bones
cracking down my spine, one disc at a time,
each time I bend down into the fallen leaf.

 

 

 

Margaret Gish Miller, born in 1946 in Palo Alto, California, lived, worked,and taught in the San Joaquin Valley, California for over 30 years.  Retired, she and her husband Ron live in Gig Harbor, Washington where she continues to write poetry.  Her work has been widely published, including The Paterson Literary Review; Verseweavers; Poets & Writers; and To Topos, an International Journal.  Most recently, 12 of her haiku are included in the anthology The Knotted Bond: Oregon Poets Speak of their Sisters.