Moon Spit

Sheila McMullin

I walk the ocean
its total expanse
over every wave and riptide
oil platform and sunken ship
choked gull and diving whale
filled with silver dagger moonlight
I worship the moon                                               
endowed revolve
cyclical spin pulling oceans toward me
weaving my reflection through sand
tacit voice in the shell
 the moon, my body                                                
one day will decompose
feed ground deeper than the ocean
once Jesus waved his hands over sick bodies
power from his diamond heart admitted
souls to reform, return this time healthy
not quite yet — the soul not entirely gone
twice Jesus waved his hands over dead bodies
and the bodies became alive
not only alive, but same again
 I can believe                                                           
here he ripped souls from heaven
nutrients from ground
I kneel with my hands over her body
first, I move my hands slowly
glide above any heat she could offer
to root warmth back into her through palms
I move my hands faster, waving my
hands like a fool
cutting the air into a million pieces
keeping at this for
complete moon cycles
rings on trees and satellite tails
waving like a lunatic
like plucking a zither in crescendo
until plastic rots
sweating, dripping
I fall into the ocean
drown as salt barnacles to my lungs

Sheila McMullin runs the feminist and artist resource website, MoonSpit Poetry, where a full list of her publications can also be found. She is the website assistant for VIDA: Women in Literary Arts and contributing editor of poetry and the blog for ROAR Magazine. Her chapbook, Like Water, was a finalist for the Ahsahta Press and New Delta Review chapbook competitions, as well as a semifinalist in the Black Lawrence Press chapbook competition. She works as an after-school creative writing and college prep instructor and volunteers at her local animal rescue. She holds her MFA from George Mason University.