Moonspace

In moon space
I remember.
I create soft landings,
places to rest,
places to find nourishment
when the world gives everything but.

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In moon space
I am channeling what I know the outside ought to be.
Moon space is creation phase.
Nothing else replicates what is birthed in moon space.

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Once, Moonspace gathered mothers
with babies at their breast,
but now she stretches wider,
evolving deeper into all she is meant to be.

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Moon space is birth.
It is like getting to know
the one-minute-old in your arms.

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Moon space is both unfamiliar and familiar.
She whispers and comes in dreams.
She sings wisdom during bouts of sadness.

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Moon space is emptiness learning what it’s hungry for.
It’s learning ways to be sated and settled.
It’s learning trust and presence.

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She takes long naps.
She eats almonds and sips kefir.
Some days she wants her feet rubbed
and her toenails painted.

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So today I made my way to the nail salon
to have tiny flowers painted on my toes.

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I needed those flowers.
And I needed to reciprocate,
so I gifted her, the nail technician,
the one who carries the same name
as someone I am learning to love
with a gentle distance.

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I gifted her three flower pens,
and she smiled.

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I thought I had lost friends,
but moon space reminds me:
everything I am looking for is right here,
even when I am still learning to touch it.

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Moon space is shaping and reshaping—
brand new territory.

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I’m trusting.

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I’m trusting her.
She’s trusting me
too.