argentum

I always assumed I was the rising sun

& when he told me I was a solar warrior,

defender of light, I believed him...

until the sun set on that aureate age.

---

at my half birthday, as the winter howled its annual demise

I rose with the dark moon, a silver specter

my undertones were jade & my jewlery was sterling,

no longer drowned out in bright blondes or goldenrod

now I'm polished, not tarnished,

& for once I have no excuse for my goddess when she questions,

"child, why don't you glow?"

---

finally, after so many cycles, I know:

I am silver

shining, reflective, & reflexive

in need of participation,

of practiced patient polishing

demanding daily devotion.

I am the moon, reflecting light

the mirror, reflecting illusion

the poem, reflecting emotion

---

this moonlit era...

I'll remember it by the time my father lost a bet,

had to pay out ten dollars

when he asked, I couldn't explain how. but deep down, I knew:

the Lone Ranger only fires silver bullets

while he's off hunting werewolves who look suspiciously like me & you