Light Always Remembers
The moon is broken in half, he told
me and so are you but notice the
softness, this no jagged loss. The
moon is broken in half, he told me
but even the crumbling seam
glows a halo of forgiveness, so you
can too. I lost myself gazing into
the surface yellow and the mellower
edge that was more grace than
fragility. And I told him he was
wrong
about the moon and wrong about
me. Neither of us were broken.
There are just some places light
forgets to shine until it remembers
again, and light always remembers
especially about me and especially
the moon. I am not broken without
him and the moon isn’t broken
without the sun, only revealing its
shadow self. The moon is always
whole, whether it shines or not. I
am whole even without him. Dark is
a profound shining, and most of
space is dark, and all of time is
made of the pauses between actions.
Lana Hechtman Ayers’ poems have appeared on Escape Into Life, Verse Daily, and The Poet’s Café, as well as in her nine published collections. She manages three small presses on the Oregon coast in a town of more cows than people. Visit her online at LanaAyers.com.
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