Walking in Moonlight Before the Pandemic by Marie Cartier and Kimberly Esslinger


photo by Kimberly Esslinger

For this month’s blog my wife, the poet Kimberly Esslinger, and I have written a joint poem—

 

Walking in Moonlight Before the Pandemic

 

and what is done to the least of these….

Where is the god of woman. Of cats. Of dead cats?

Of wives. Of midnight walks with dogs and the normalcy of silence.

And day becoming more like night in this stillness.  All the crowded spaces. Open.

Empty. A bag floats down at night. A grocery bag. Onto the hood of a

speeding hatchback. Not a bag. But now a cat. Someone’s cat.  Dead.

Just like that.  A hatchback. And yes, here I was, with my dogs, wanting to believe

it was alive. I start to call her, she. Did she just move? Did you see her move?

My wife has gloves. A box. A plan. But I push her away.

I believe in god. And she could heal this cat.

She would. She would if I would wait long enough.

photo by Marie Cartier

And the streetlights ring yellow light, cast shadows, and

we have no idea what’s coming. Like this dead cat who belonged somewhere

else. Maybe to someone…. But there’s this virus. It’s coming.

You do not need to be fragile to be run over by a hatchback, or a truck.

You do not need to believe in god. And I sat nursing the cat into her next life.

Next to an empty box. Unused gloves. I lifted her from the street to the soft

grass under the moonlight. And arranged her legs like she was running.

towards the uncertainty coming at all of us.

 

–Marie Cartier and Kimberly Esslinger
In These United States, March 2020

 



Categories: animals, Ecofeminism, General, Poetry, Women's Spirituality

Tags: ,

7 replies

  1. Beautiful. Thank you.

    Like

  2. Ahhh, yes, the Olden Days. If this pandemic goes on, we’ll be looking at photographs and saying, “Look! Those people are touching each other.” We’ll be remembering the things you describe on the streets and remember them as beautiful. We’ll remember what it’s like to go into a mall or a restaurant. We’ll remember parties. We’ll remember going out with our dear ones and not being afraid to touch anyone or anything. Yes, we’ll even remember nursing sick animals and leading dead cats into their next lives.

    Thanks for writing this poem and posting it today.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you for being such a valuable voice always. I miss seeing you at the Goddess gatherings which yes right now seem so magical and “other worldly”- I love your reflections here ♡

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I was struck by the word “uncertainty” I guess because uncertainty seems to have always marked the road ahead in my life – perhaps not so in others? To uncertainty we add fear of death… and the reality that if we don’t begin to listen to Climatologists warnings we can expect more of same. Do we realize that scientists discovered this virus in 2015, and PUBLISHED scienific papers about it in 2017 and they were ignored….?

    Liked by 2 people

    • I didn’t know that about those papers published in 2015!! Wow– and of course it makes sense. Thank you for sharing such an important point in this discussion ♡

      Like

  4. Blessings to you all in this troubled time. My family and I have a song we sing whenever we encounter any creature (including trees) that is being reborn as an ancestor. Lovely poem, and powerful experience of midwifery.

    Like

Please familiarize yourself with our Comment Policy before posting.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: