Small Moves to the Orion Nebula. Photo by Robert Rath from Robert’s website.
So, here I am again: I had a momentary lapse of synaptic connectivity and registered for NaPoWriMo, the 2015 poem-a-day project.
I read somewhere recently about how we may all have been born under different astrological signs if the so-called thirteenth sign of the zodiac, Ophiuchus, the serpent-bearer, had been included. Today’s poem imagines how that may have unfolded for poor old Ophiuchus.
As always, I preface these poems with the reminder: they are daily-fresh and may need time to mature after rework!
The forgotten constellation
Serpent-bearer Ophiuchus
left out in the astrological cold
clenches a furious fist
spits venom at his exclusion
from the circle of twelve
while his cold-blooded pet
slides lazily
up his tightened right arm
along the back of his broad, hunched shoulders
then down, encircling his waist
in starry-eyed slitheriness;
Ophiuchus huffs and puffs
stamps on Scorpio
in stormy rage
hollers about unlucky thirteenth
at his Milky Way neighbour;
tired of the temper and the celestial carry-on
the serpent glides down, down
over knotted limbs
and meteored feet
slips silently into a black, black hole
leaving Ophiuchus desolate:
purposeless now,
permanently banished
to an astral wasteland.
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