Saturday, 18 June 2022

'Moon’s Lament' by Thad DeVassie

She wrote a heartfelt poem about people on the glass marble of her Earth, those curious miniscule creatures she peered down upon during her evening galactic stroll. Reluctantly, she agreed to workshop her poem with other moons. Major edits and whole sections were cut loose like astronaut castaways into a gravity-free atmosphere. She was nervous that, in time, they would be intercepted like satellite transmissions, decoded by those adept at reading space dust. To her astonishment, other moons also had people poems of their own in the works. They should write about Martians or Mercurians, stifling heat or unbearable cold, she lamented. This depressed The Moon greatly, as she had once felt the pitter-patter of people’s tiny feet on her being many moons ago, hung on to an intimacy with man that no other moon could claim. But no moon across all the heavens believed her. Then, in a moment of waning and reclusiveness, she hid her poem beneath a few ashen footprints where it remains the only definitive moon poem, right next to a gigantic crater carved out by tears that millions read into nightly by telescope. 

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