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the moon
i wish i could know everything
the moon knows.
what i know would seem so different
if i’d seen it from her perspective.
truth is only seen from above the trees.
i wonder if truth haunts her
like it does me, or if she can sleep.
each night she impales
me like an icicle
that was once sage green.
nothing is as sage as the moon.
she sees breath
directed upwards, towards a yearning
for heaven’s pearly doors.
she hears cries directed
downwards, borne
from cynicism and disbelief
in all postmortem reveries. two ways
for the body to inhale
and to exhale. but only she knows
which is the true. i used to dream
of throwing a rope around her,
pulling her in, and taking her home.
that way, she could watch over me
closely and tell me
the secrets of the celestial gods.
an energy divine and feminine,
i hear her say “here, here”
when dark falls and i emerge
from the monotony of day, beckoned
into the ambiguity and possibility
of night. night—the only time
for a mind like mine to roam
the sky. she and i have a companionship
that extends across bodies,
one that depends
on meeting mutual needs.
she tells me when it is time
to leave, for she sees
truth from above the trees. i dance
beneath her so she has something
to illuminate. i watch her
so she has something to see.
i can count on her to never leave,
unlike he. it takes me years
to climb the tallest of trees,
but when i do, she is there
to comfort me—i am a fool
who took years to see
what she’d already believed.
he and i didn’t have a companionship,
though he certainly depended
on me, like a predator does it’s prey.
he kept secrets
from the moon, to whom i swore oaths.
the moon was in waxing gibbous
when he pulled over
his car next to the train tracks
and silently contemplated.
as he drove away, he slammed
his foot on the brakes and his fists
on the steering wheel. my vacant
eyes stared at him,
darting left and right—the only
movement in my lifeless body.
the moon whispered in my frigid ear
that he had made me
into a ghost. it was time to go.
i feel whole now without him,
but that whole is broken.
it’s broken in places
it doesn’t even know can crack.
i live like i’ve already died.
i live like im running out
of time. for five years, i was half
a person and he never
showed up enough to be
the other half.
those were the years
when the only “him” i ever
wanted to be my muse was you.
you said you loved me.
you said it under the moon.
you can lie to me.
you cannot lie to the moon.
the moon knows what i don’t know,
and continues to change
when i can’t. when she comes
full circle, she comes back new.
not so much improved, for
she is still the moon.
paralyzed am i,
a daughter of her morphology.
in her wake, i am no longer ghostly.
as she ushers in each new night,
i am impaled with the chance
to start new, too, but am never sage
enough to begin again. he changed me.
but instead, now i will allow her to,
because i envy
how she could change yet never stray
from her true form.
dear moon, i am ready.
i am ready to move on.
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An ode to relationships, heartbreaks, and changes, all happening under the natural surveillance of the moon.