(Peri)Menopause - Lucy Hinton

How does the ocean

know herself

without the tides?

Her tides

Guided her

They lived her

Washing her back and forth

between immersion

and perspective

Carrying her around

the wheel

of nature’s seasons

They were how she knew

her body-mind,

her cycling weather patterns

her kaleidoscopic wholeness

Or so she thought

For they also ruled her

Pulled her inexorably

in and out

this way and that

Lunar pheromones

are serenades more for sailors

than for selfhood

Moon-drunk choices

Arouse

many shipwrecks

And did you think

the settling of the tides

Happens smoothly

overnight?

Little chance!

Some tides are late, or early

Others ambiguous, or strong

Some never come.

The beaches wonder

where they stand

The rhythms of the cosmos

Are forever-constants

Inside her waxing and waning Ocean Belly:

A watery compass to steer by, always

Until they shift

And she must discover

a new way

to find home

A new way

to be home

To meet this evolution

She must shapeshift

Remaining herself

while becoming

something new

And

Still waters

Discern subtle currents

Run deep

And offer

The clearest reflections

I think she’ll be ok

One day the ultimate

shapeshift

Will come

When the whole sea evaporates

Into vapour

Some call it Death

Will she know herself then?