"The Envy of the Moon"
By Christopher Fox Graham
The Arizona desert is so silent
that on a night like this
you can hear the Moon
because of the distance between here and there
it takes time for messages to pass between us
but tonight I ask,
"Moon, do you envy the Earth?"
on most nights,
the Moon remains silent in the night sky
unwilling or unable to reply
but tonight,
tonight on the breath of the wind
deep and slow like it had centuries of time to contemplate
an answer
I heard the Moon whisper, "Yes."
when speaking with heavenly bodies
you must slow your mind
understand that they do not enunciate impatiently
every syllable takes time to shake free of its
surface
so they only speak when gravity is worth the
weight
"Yes, I envy the Earth," the Moon said
"we were lovers
born in the same fire
spinning like dancers drunk on each other
shattered by craters which made us old before our
time
but across her
oceans hide her secrets
I pull at them hoping to see her again
I lost sight of her beneath all the green
across her, moving things became too many to count
the noise of it is deafening
your people covered
across her plains
cut geometric squares
that now change with the seasons
cities spread from
sea coast up her rivers to the mountains
and places in between
threads of lines
connect them all
you people shake
loose so much of my old lover
I barely recognize
her
and I wondered what
is so important
that you were so busy
for so long
and then a few of you came to visit
planted your feet and your flags on my skin
said things close to me
there was no time to wait for the echo like before
it was overwhelming
the Earth feels like this every day
and i'm certain some days it's more than she can
take
but I would give anything to feel it again
you had stared at me for so many generations
your desire to reach me was burned into your bones
so happy to be the first
you left your names engraved in stone for those
afterward
and then I knew what she felt
why she held you so tightly
why she changed herself after every eruption or
impact
it was to give a few of you a chance to survive
it was the only way we could touch again
you came to visit
but none of you stayed
you left me here
and I did not know I was lonely until you were
gone
but I will tell you a secret:
deep in your American South
in the bayou of a delta
there is a man who sits nightly on his porch
as the sun dips below the horizon
he plays his guitar for hours
I can narrow my vision to see his face like he was
sitting here
he plays and stares at me
like we are old friends
the lunar desert is so silent
that on a night like this
you can hear single note
because of the distance between here and there
it takes time for messages to pass between us
but I strain to listen
and I know I must compensate for the delay
deafen all the other songs and stories
so I can hear what he has to sing
but on a night like tonight
on the breath of the wind
he sings of being alone
I count you daily
there are 7 billion of you around him
some within miles
be he, he is alone
profoundly nakedly alone
as though he, like me, had been alone in the dark
for centuries
but remembers what it was like to be loved and
touched once
and when stares at me, he knows that only I know
what he feels
he sings to me
he sings for me
he sings because I
do not know how
so, yes, I envy the Earth
I want you to be here
I want your cities to spread across these ancient
craters
I want to be so deep beneath your feet that I am forgotten
because you are staring out at other worlds to
touch
I want you to no longer call me the Moon like I am
a stranger
but 'home' because this is where you spent your
lives
this is where you want to be buried
this is where you want to leave from
and never look back
I envy the Earth
because she has this," the Moon said
"she has you"
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| A colonized moon |
Christopher Fox Graham © 2014
