two girls fell in love with the moon.
not with artemis—
with her fur coats that snag on
the jagged edges of stars,
her silent tread as she hunts night creatures,
the twang of the bow string
before the arrow finds home
in the crooked neck of a student studying,
between a pair of shoulders hunched over books,
in the heart of a man juggling dollar bills and diapers,
and straight through an aluminum can poised before lips inside a gas station.
no, not with artemis.
two girls fell in love with the moon.
not with its lupine children—
with myth and reality alike,
eyes gleaming, a different kind of fur coat bristling,
paws stamping and padding across the earth,
claws carving trenches and teeth carving dinner,
determining pack hierarchy like high school all over again,
a cult of worshippers who rend their vocal cords in praise,
primal, instinctual, animal,
man becomes beast and in you your yorkie
recognizes its ancestors, recognizes domestication at its finest,
how it feels to throw back your head and just howl,
how it feels to lose yourself.
no, not with its lupine children.
two girls fell in love with the moon.
not with the tides—
with a force beyond your world
always pulling and pushing you back and forth day after day
like regulated, scheduled mood swings,
a force you only believe is there because you can feel it,
but why should that be fair, explained away
when you just want to be unrestrained,
an offer you can’t refuse, an undeniable truth,
a deal you want to break but are legally bound to
because of a signature in crayon on a kindergarten napkin,
a promise sealed in linked pinkies in first grade,
an irresistible attraction you can’t escape.
no, not with the tides.
two girls fell in love with the moon.
not with the night flowers—
with the closed buds shuttered to daylight,
weeding out those who don’t care enough with tools of patience and dedication,
who thrives in darkness, stars sprouting from the ground,
a beauty in shadow, a thousand metaphors,
with the orchids and primrose, lilies and cacti,
with the moonflower and chocolate flower that seed from children’s dreams,
and with the jessamine and the catchfly,
white petals splayed gently like a resting place for the weary,
blooms reflecting moonlight with clusters of pollen stars,
they open to serenades of cricket string quartets
and frogs’ croaky jazz bands
and they stay for the show then they go.
no, not with the night flowers.
two girls fell in love with the moon
the same moon they could both see
out their windows at night
as they fell in love with each other.
TWO GIRLS FELL IN LOVE | j.p