Podcast: Moonlit Tears – Poetry by Katherine Estelle

Her vibrant red hair, illuminated by the moonlight
Tear drops in her eyes, the taste of salt on her lips
Grass tickling her knees, as she kneels on the ground
Hands placed in front of her, fingers in the dirt
Connected to the earth again, she looks up at the moon and smiles
Alone again, but she doesn’t feel lonely
This is her peaceful place
The place she goes to think, to let her mind wander
May they wander to good thoughts or bad thoughts, that is up to the universe to determine
Here, while she sits under the moonlit sky, she is at peace
Her eyes closed, she lets the emotions flow
Tears are not a bad thing, she knows this
Crying does not mean you are sad, crying is a release
She allows the emotion to flow through her, like the waves that move ships across the ocean
With no wind or sail to move her, she allows her emotions to move slowly, naturally, and even stop at times
Allowing the universe to take full control, that is what gives her peace
The moon controls the ocean, the waves, and the ships that are brave enough to sail across the unknown beauty of the tortuous waters
Sometimes it’s terrifying, sometimes it feels like life or death, but she knows this is a necessary step in her spiritual journey
She folds her hands, bows her head, and lets her tears fall onto grass
And she is willing to do whatever it takes to become the women she knows she deserves to be
https://silentpublishing.me/2024/12/07/moonlit-tears-poetry-by-katherine-estelle/

Names used in this back and forth conversation are fictional and not based on any real person.

Pip: SilenT Publishing — where your silence is heard..

Mara: Today we’re speaking about the meaning of a poem written by Katherine Estelle — although short, it carries a lot of weight. We’re talking about grief, release, and what it means to surrender to your own emotions. Let’s start with the poem itself.

Moonlit Tears

Pip: The poem opens in a specific, grounded image — a woman alone at night, kneeling in the grass, hands in the dirt, looking up at the moon. The question it’s really asking is: what does it mean to feel something fully, without flinching?

Mara: The poem sets up its emotional logic early, and this line carries it: “Tears are not a bad thing, she knows this — crying does not mean you are sad, crying is a release.”

Pip: That reframe is doing real work. The poem isn’t about sadness as an endpoint — it’s about emotion as movement. Crying isn’t collapse; it’s the thing that lets you keep going.

Mara: And the poem extends that idea through a sustained metaphor. She allows the emotion to flow, as the poem puts it, “like the waves that move ships across the ocean — with no wind or sail to move her, she allows her emotions to move slowly, naturally, and even stop at times.”

Pip: So she’s not steering. That’s the point. Control is released to something larger — the universe, the moon, the tide.

Mara: The moon is doing a lot of structural work here. It controls the ocean, the waves, the ships. And the woman in the poem places herself inside that same system — subject to forces bigger than her will, and finding peace in that, not terror.

Pip: Though the poem doesn’t pretend it’s easy. “Sometimes it’s terrifying, sometimes it feels like life or death” — that’s still in there. The peace isn’t naivety.

Mara: It closes on an act of intention: she folds her hands, bows her head, lets her tears fall onto the grass. The posture is almost devotional. She’s willing, the poem says, to do whatever it takes to become the woman she knows she deserves to be.

Pip: That last line lands differently than the rest. It’s the only moment she’s looking forward instead of inward.

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Mara: Surrender and intention in the same breath — that’s a difficult balance to hold in any form, let alone a short poem.

Pip: More from SilenT Publishing next time. The moon will probably still be involved.