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.
