Totality

I was born three weeks late on a full moon.  I mean, it was full if you looked at the sky.  But it wasn't quite full.  It was 10 degrees shy.  

Shy, but luminous, imminently full without attaining the real deal, existing in that state of anticipation just before you step onto a stage, when your heart is in your throat, and time stands still.  I don't have to perform yet.  I don't have to abandon a secret joy or cope with a disillusionment when everything's suspended like this, in suspense, pending.

I like it best when the gift is in my lap and I haven't yet pulled the ribbon.  I like it best when the roller coaster is about to crest. "There's more to this story" is music to my ears.  Ambiguity is at the heart of all my favorite poems.

Shy is the neutral ground between performing and self-destructing.  Anonymity is the refuge, until I see that I haven't ever been seen, that I'm disappearing (without a trace). 

At 15 I wore the cigarette and the flannel shirt with unlaced boots of the girls who weren't good, but I was good.  I hated Aerosmith and pretended to like them.  I knew every Joni Mitchell song by heart and feigned indifference.  I was ambivalent, and I could become anything, for anyone.  I loved a guy madly, secretly, but I was eclipsed. 

Monday I will celebrate turning 53 during a solar eclipse.  I like how this is a new moon, and maybe I'm coming full circle with this one.  Maybe I can imagine being full finally, and holding onto that fullness.  Until then, I will make shadows here.