Mourning the Moon

Medicl Journal Photo: Acute retinal necrosis 

I couldn’t cuddle the cold moon.
She spent too much time dethawing
on night’s granite counter,
dripping to death,
and could no longer be consumed.

The sloppy sidewalk glitters
with freshly shed lunar flesh,
a pale marble cradled in the crux,
flicked out of control
to be won by a wider circle.

No. It’s simply uncouth to visit
the oozing moon;
impolite to watch her wither,
pale behind antique lace,
a mucus-filled vapor rasp.

Despite the padded brassiere,
she’s losing muscle mass
and long-term memory,
her spine long-since bent,
waiting for the last cycle to pass.

© 2022 | K.Hartless

23 comments

  1. A wonderful poem my dear friend. In 1991-1993, I was station at Fort Ord, California. I would walk the Fort Ord to Monterey beach walk almost every night and I saw the most beautiful views. The moon kissing the sea, goodnight. The moon, falling into the west. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.

    Liked by 1 person

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