The Spirit of the Moon
Sophia Reich
The heavy hand of the moon,
Caresses the current with its waxy tips,
The edges of silver spines, still reflecting
A grainy vision of what she once was.
Still the sea, with all of its tender limbs,
And its aching pulse—seems to forget.
The waves, in all of their glory, forget,
That it was not just the rain, but the moon
Who brought forth a trembling ocean, whose limbs
Twist into coarse fibers and blown-glass tips.
It was her—all of her being that was
To leave the eyes hollow, just reflecting.
Just as a blade sits and waits, reflecting,
Until bitter fractals disperse. Forget
The carcass of night and how pure it was
In feverish visions of just her—the moon.
Perhaps her gentle head swivels and tips,
A swan resting on time’s strange, wiry limbs.
Yet, she can never seem to grasp those limbs
For longer than a quiver, reflecting
Cobalt upon her silhouette, which tips
Towards the North wind. Only to forget
Just how her tears—carved a crescent moon.
Even behind the fog’s mantle, she was.
And for, the simple thing that she once was,
Men would throw themselves aship, their dark limbs
Flexing in the air, like plywood. The moon
Laughed. And her virgin skin, reflecting,
A Prussian blue by which she must forget
The mercury as it seeps through her tips.
The waters bears witness, to how she tips
The painted toy boats with her damp breath. Was
She to be a lover? One can forget
Such a foreign hymn, when the crawling limbs
Seem to emerge, from the shores, reflecting
Porcelain tiles on the surface of the moon.
To see fragile gray tips, distorting limbs,
She just was, mother-of-pearl reflecting,
Until one was to forget: the bare moon.
Sophia Reich (she/her/hers) is a current junior at Rutgers SAS and the Honors College from High Bridge, New Jersey. She is studying Cell Biology & Neuroscience and Art History with minors in Creative Writing and Chemistry. This piece was written under the guidance of Professor Susan Miller, who has served as a major source of inspiration for Sophia.