Skorda's Seaside Taverna: Bebe

Skopelos and Virgin

-by Skorda

Swallow that campari moon
when first you see it
across the water,
rising round and new above the mountain.
Open your mouth and swallow
while youth holds its roundness near,
and you are running fearless in the dark.
Hold it inside, it is still warm
and you will need its light,
there, inside you.

Down the road of time, somewhere
after you’ve aged, traveled,
Explored, discovered.
And the dust around your doorway
has been pounded hard and smooth under your feet.
When you find yourself growing weary and bored,
when your eyes see only ruins,
and your heart is empty.
You may believe, in your exhaustion,
that this is truth, at last.
That the mystery has unraveled,
leaving no wilderness to explore or tame.
All secrets have been shared,
the frontier has dissolved.
Know then, with these thoughts,
you have been swallowed.

The warm belly of the beast
comforts with confining darkness
and lulls with rhythmic sounds
Murmuring to you,
Curl up and sleep,
just go to sleep.

Shake your head,
stretch your legs,
do not sleep now.

Remember what you know.
You swallowed the moon,
you hold it inside you.
Not as a magpie hoarding shiny things,
or wearing the moon for beauty
or bartering the moon for wealth.
You swallowed the moon for this moment.
When you will walk to the water’s edge,
open your mouth, release the moon
and let its light build you a pathway
across the wine dark sea.
©Skorda 2008

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Bebe

I met Bebe two years ago. He was not young, and his life had been difficult and abusive. My sister heard about him through Maltese rescue and, as she already had two dogs , she was hesitant to commit to a third and decided to foster him until he could find a loving home. Of course, that decision went by the wayside once she met him and fell in love. He was not in good health, his body was covered with sores and benign tumors, he had been kicked so much his spleen was enlarged and he had liver damage. When I met him he had just been released from the vet’s and was shaved and stitched and looking like Franken pup. I set him on my lap and we drove that way all the way to southern Florida. I bonded with him in a way that I had not with my sister’s other small white dogs, even though he bit me hard when I inadvertently touched his sore body. It hurt like hell, but I forgave him. I understood this scrappy dog, Bebe had soul. He was just so damned grateful for every crumb of attention, every act of kindness. In his previous life (as Hank) Bebe had been taught to perform, he could walk on his hind legs, twirl around and dance, he was very skilled at this, and seemed to enjoy it. This is how I will remember him, dancing for cheese.