Moon Phases

People come and go. They are the tide.
I am the moon.
Have I told you that I’m sick of this?
This going? This gone?
This mouth of mine that’s
shaped goodbye a thousand times.
Maybe more.
And worse still, the coming back to find me
cold or cratered — missing parts — bearing holes.
I have no good memories.
Not of you.
Or you.
Or you.
I am the moon. I am cold. I am cratered.
And I remember it all.
I am bearing holes, but I remember
it all.

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2 comments
  1. Katherine Rebekah said:

    That was just….beautiful. Loved it.

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