another one about the moon

When I was eight years old I reached so high

I grabbed a handful of the moon and decided to sew it into my heart

But wait. For a minute

Let’s talk about how the moon has phases and

Let’s talk about empty tired gazes

Because I didn’t know about those things at eight

Because full hands aren’t that different from full moons

And I can’t seem to ever remember what gibbous even means

But wait. For a second

Let’s talk about 4 am phone calls with exes

and the roommates who have to listen to them

(me)

About how they’ve talked about the same things for… since forever

And how both their hearts are at half and just need to orbit to new

Or full

Or anything besides half because halves aren’t whole and you’d think that’d be common knowledge

But every night at 4 am they seem to forget.

Anyways,

Back to moon-fulls and stitching hearts

Sometimes I want to blame that eight-year-old me for putting something so unstable

So changing

So inconsistent in my heart,

but I thought it was pretty and my mom had just taught me how to sew

Anyways,

A couple days went by and I turned 18

And the moon either disappeared

Or was staying in phase gibbous because I couldn’t understand it

or

remember it or

find it or feel it enough to even unstitch it

And I just put off writing this for a couple hours to register for classes and I can’t get over how ironic it was because

I ended up signing up for a class called Outer Space and I can almost guarantee they’re going to talk about the moon

And gibbous and phases

So maybe I should sit front row and take good notes and act interested and smile and dress nice

And maybe I’ll get a good grade in the class and be able to map out my heart a little better

The sun doesn’t have phases though

(as I’m sure I’ll learn in my class)

At least not on earth

So maybe me myself and eight-year-old I should’ve sewn in handfuls of the sun

But I didn’t

Anyways,

I still fall in love with the moon

I’ve written about it three times on this blog alone and doodled it on every page of my journal

And really, I think if there were a rocket in my back yard made of cardboard boxes and tin foil

I would be convinced it could get me to the moon

Because I would want it to

Because craters and mountains ranges and reflected light seem like the types of things that would make good stories and better friends and would add up for some good pictures

Because I haven’t felt at full for the last couple weeks and I’m starting to worry

Because I’ve had to reinvent my scale of self-worth thirteen times in the last couple months and I’m starting to worry

Because I want to show her how I know I can make her feel full because I can tell she’s starting to worry

Anyways,

I still think the moon is beautiful, even when it’s new

Even when it’s half

Even when it’s gibbous

And I think eight-year-old me knew that even when the moon disappeared,

It was still there, just waiting to take our breath away the next week

Maybe she knew there was something quite amazing about being able to say you’ve felt empty and half and yet,

To always know you’d make your way back to full. 

BP