I asked mama how far the moon is 

from my window, if there was 

a man on the moon and she says

I don’t think so because no one 

can live on the moon, no water

no air, no place to build a home

silvery glow and milky white

like creamy cheese on some days

with my binoculars I get a closeup 

of this circular wonder, impeccable 

with its silvery glow, illuminating 

the dark streets and nights

and then I see those pockets 

like patches of dark clouds

hollow and appearing bruised

I ask mama if the moon is hurt

and she says that’s how it is

I want to comfort the moon

I want to heal it the way it has

by beaming and smiling at me

whenever I’ve felt sad 

thinking about my father

wondering if he’d come home

after performing his duty at the border

when I see the moon after a few years

no longer creamy white, 

just remnants of hollow black 

has the moon really changed I wonder

or that my eyes have lost their sheen?

Meet the Poet!

Author of her memoir, ‘A Turbulent Mind – My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at the University of San Francisco. She has been published in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice Anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond Words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also an alumna of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022.