Poem: Nocturnal Procession

Poem: Nocturnal Procession

Jan 16, 2023

Nocturnal Procession

You say these phenomena
can be blamed on pollution,
perversions of air and light.

What I notice is new only
because all is warped.

Are you secretly speaking
about me?

The truth is I am haunted
by one single night sky,
and something more
than a lacking vocabulary.

Noctilucence takes place
higher in the atmosphere.

So: stratocumulus
undulatus, at night.

What happens if I say
bioluminescence?

A procession of cloud creatures
vast, majestic, silver on cobalt,
a moving cyanotype.

Close enough for me
to reach up and touch
a white, wooly flank,

to hear the whisper of
their silken passage.

Believe me or look away.

I tell you they were alive
and they looked at me.

🌙

I normally post on the third Thursday of the month, but today is the birthday of a dear friend and supporter, so I decided to post today. Happy birthday, Kerfe! Thanks to you, I also made some art to go with the poem, which I'd been wanting to try for about as long as it took to set the poem down, but was sure it wouldn't come close to my experience. Surprisingly, I got pretty close! And it was fun, bringing out the watercolors I bought last year, and painstakingly tearing the paper with scotch tape to get some semblance of texture for the clouds. And I could paint bare tree branches alllll day long.

So, about this poem. It too came thanks to a friend, who listened to me talk about the experience that inspired it and (unlike the imaginary person, or more science-minded alter ego, to whom the poem is addressed) did not stare at me in concern or advise me to seek psychiatric help. In fact, describing it to her (or trying) helped me draft the poem that very night. Prior to that, I'd just resigned myself to being quietly obsessed with having witnessed something perfectly natural and perfectly strange.

I could say that my magical realist lens has gotten stronger since I ceased having to pretend to be neurotypical in order to make a living wage. Or perhaps I should say the older I get, the less I repress my intuitive responses to the material world. So when the cloud-people came by, on a night with no moon to credit for their brightness, I was quite receptive to how marvelous they were. But of course I was also trying desperately to fit them in a Latinate package, recalling articles about how noctilucent clouds are on the rise thanks to climate change, yet also knowing my general cloud classifications too well to mis-identify these giant, puffy cumulus beasties.

They were, I declare without equivocation, beasties. Shaggy as mountain goats. And as real and intelligent as any dragon. The sense I had was of having happened onto something like the tail end of the Hyakki Yagyō (Night Parade of 100 Demons) in Japanese folklore. A stately, graceful affair. How lucky I was to be there to admire it. How unfortunate the number of eyes that were probably fixed to their digital screens while it was going on. Because that night, which was in the fall (not summer, as is normal for such phenomena), was the first and last night I saw them. Almost.

On the last new-moon night, by candlelight, I was conducting a writing ritual at my window when a single, small but perfect cloud drifted by—the only one in the sky all night, or at least for as long as I was watching. There was something sly about its passage, a meteorological wink. I smiled back. We should always be aware of our own cheekiness, summoning such things. Still, it was sweet. I have no expectations, when I look up into the night sky, but I'm ever prepared to be surprised.

...

This is a public post, so wanderers can see what manner of fancy lies behind the paywall. Much love and appreciation to my patrons and supporters, and see you next month!

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