Anthony DELANOIX

Grandmother Sun & Mother Moon

Good intentions,
they say,
pave the road to hell.

Good intentions,
they say,
are meaningless.

Your intentions,
they say,
are meaningless.

Your meaningless,
they say,
and on the road to hell.

I disagree.

They who are ambivalent
litter the devil’s highway
with apathetic proverbs
and
carefully crafted phrases
tinged with artifice and spite.

Let them have this road,
and wherever it might lead.

Instead

I’ve worshipped the morning sun,
rising over the day’s purpose
and
reconnecting me with my ancestors,
strengthening me to distance myself
from the morning glory weeds in my spirit.

I fall to my knees, and
Grandmother Sun holds my hands
between her weathered palms,
healing my broken heart with her touch.

I’ve revered the moon,
presiding over the night sky
and
She gently puffs out her glowing belly
knowing I’m learning who I am
and
what I believe
and
where I want to travel in this life.
I greet the moon, and

Mother Moon pats my cheeks
and kisses me on the nose before tucking me into bed,
but stays in my dreams.

I sleep as both Grandmother Sun and Mother Moon sigh deeply,
settling into their rocking chairs.