Happy bank holiday! For me, this long weekend is appearing between scans and checkups, as snatches of joy often do. I had my PET scan on Wednesday, which was a breeze – it’s always easier when you’ve done something before. I had a nap during the scan last time, and this time was no different, except this time my leg didnt jerk in my sleep and wake me up panicking that I had unintentionally moved. The results should come back in a week or two. Next Friday is my gastroscopy, at a completely different hospital, so Peter and I are continuing our tour of the local medical establishments.
Anyway, I wanted to share a poem today, because I haven’t posted one for a while and I haven’t submitted much to lit mags or had anything published for a while, either. Here’s something I wrote on the way home from a friend’s house last week, and the photo that follows is my terrible attempt at taking a photo of the moon that same night.
The moon behind the church
I want to live where I can see the moon. I want to be
with people who can see and nod and agree with my
assertions about the beauty of the moon. When the
traffic slows, I like to think it’s because every driver
is trying to get a really good look at the moon.
I want us all to turn off our own moons – headlights –
and slow to see the moon behind the church.
I pull over to take a picture. Get my good side, it says,
keeping its cheek turned. I comply, the photo doesn’t
turn out quite right – I don’t have the tools – but I am
happy to sit, forget the day the sun had burned, and let
my head cool as I admire the moon behind the church.