We’ll see Jupiter soon. It will be close enough to touch, lined up right below the moon. Maybe we could climb that hill, the one that’s laced with river birch. There’s a clearing, and we’re far enough away from the city (the stars still flicker and melt). We can bring a quilt and some iced tea in mason jars and wait until the sky goes orange, then purple, then black.

And when Jupiter comes, and it shines brilliant and ivory, we can tell one another about how only deadly gases and toxic storms are allowed to live there. That the red spot is violently tempered and unkind. We live Here and not There, for whatever reason that is. And we’ll thank God we live Here, even though Here is sick and shaking. If we lived There, we’d be burnt to crisps and all alone. At least we have rainforests Here; Jupiter never had any at all.

We’ll tell each other not to feel deprived by our lack of many moons. Our moon is enough; she pulls and twists and moves our waters and bodies sufficiently and beautifully. 

“Our moon doesn’t have a name, though.” You’ll tell me, your forehead furrowed and your hands tight at your sides.  “She’s just up there.”

But listen, please. She’s close enough walk on. And the men who breathed in her dust were able to feel the ink of space pressing down on their skin through their spacesuits, s0 that’s something, isn’t it?  Our moon is so poetic that she doesn’t need to be called Io, Europa, Ganymede, or Callisto. We each get to name her whatever we want. So what will you name her?


7 thoughts on “Jupiter

  1. I have been looking up Tom Robbins quotes today and here are two from Still Life With Woodpecker about the moon:

    “There are essential and inessential insanities. The latter are solar in character, the former are linked to the moon.”

    “It was a moon that could stir wild passions in a moo cow. It was a moon that could bring out the devil in a bunny rabbit.”

  2. Perfect.

    You know, I just love him. I first read Even Cowgirls Get the Blues at 14, and it beautifully and bizarrely has shaped my outlook on life. Love, sex, the moon, bodily fluids, eccentric characters, sex, wisdom, sex….what else is life all about?

  3. Ah. It makes me happy that you found him early too. Maybe it is only the very young who should read Tom Robbins. Or maybe not. Maybe it is that we should only read the YOUNG Tom Robbins.

  4. Well, you know, my blog is named after the moon — or at least a moon deep within a Yeats poem.

    “a moon, worn as if it had been a shell and washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell about the days and years”

  5. Elizabeth, I have always loved that poem, and love that you use it as your blog title. The moon pulls us all together, in so many ways…

  6. …and he’s from Blowing Rock, NC. You should totally go there (it’s towards Boone) the next time you’re in Asheville.

    I like a young Tom Robbins. Corduroy jacket over a ringer t-shirt, thick beard, oh heck yes I do.

"... all my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures."

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