Me and the Moon
by Theodora Goss
And then there is the part of me that turns away,
that says this is too much, this has gone on too long,
the part that wants the silence after the song.
That part has seen so much and has no wish
to see it all again, the long uncertain
goodbye, the tearful nights, the final kiss
it did not know was final until after
the falling of a curtain,
the bow before an audience of one
that became none.
The moon and I are sisters — she has a bright
side of her face turned earthward, as I have mine,
and then there is the dark side, pocked and scarred
by asteroids, turned toward the infinite darkness
of space, always away —
You have been bathed in moonshine.
But that other part of me, with its other face,
is turned away, and its eyes
are the eyes of a woman who is perpetually leaving.
(The image is by Wladyslaw Theodor Benda.)