Dear Amy Coney Barrett,
Have you ever wept when someone you don’t know is kind to you?
The nurse who held my hand during my second abortion
said the quick loss of pregnancy hormones could have caused my weeping.
The doctor had such smooth, dark skin and a pure white beard.
It was as if a waxing or waning moon hovered between my legs.
He was kind too and said, almost done, almost done. He sounded like the tide.
I did your chart: the Friday you were born, the moon was humped, gibbous.
Astronomers called it a moon giant.
Astrologers say you have great willpower, dislike almost every change.
You have the choice to show your love with actions.
When your moon is in Cancer, you have the choice to inflict great harm.
Amy, we were both born on Aquarian cusps, sharp points of a moon’s
crescent hook. I’m being very intrusive now, but under your black robe,
you should wear Aquarius blue; around your neck, a plum gemstone.
(originally published in On the Seawall)
Have you ever wept when someone you don’t know is kind to you?
The nurse who held my hand during my second abortion
said the quick loss of pregnancy hormones could have caused my weeping.
The doctor had such smooth, dark skin and a pure white beard.
It was as if a waxing or waning moon hovered between my legs.
He was kind too and said, almost done, almost done. He sounded like the tide.
I did your chart: the Friday you were born, the moon was humped, gibbous.
Astronomers called it a moon giant.
Astrologers say you have great willpower, dislike almost every change.
You have the choice to show your love with actions.
When your moon is in Cancer, you have the choice to inflict great harm.
Amy, we were both born on Aquarian cusps, sharp points of a moon’s
crescent hook. I’m being very intrusive now, but under your black robe,
you should wear Aquarius blue; around your neck, a plum gemstone.
(originally published in On the Seawall)