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New Moon

by Christen Lee

Three nights after the new moon,

I search the sky for what’s almost not there.

You can just make out that thread of white

piercing the black

like a needling comma,

A pause,

while the world continues

counting days and moons,

years cycling the burning sun

on this earth with its birthing and dying

and everything that fills the in between.

But tonight it’s spring

and nearly alive

on this green stretch of possibility.

See how hope pokes through,

soft shoots rise up

to face the waxing moon.

Of course it’s only natural

to fall in love with what’s born

and to suffer what’s lost.

And it’s so easy to feel time’s gravity

in the thick blood dusk,

the night closing in like a lover’s goodbye

leaving us tilted on earth’s axis

and spinning toward ruin.

Look at the bird with the broken wing

lying motionless under the nesting oak.

And I think, at least he knew that rapture of flight

out here in this sacred space.

And in this way I bargain my sadness

on and on.

We spend our days threading

new ways through joys and sorrows

on and on.

So I root for the moon to spot me

thread me back onto the solid ground.

How I need a silver lining

that cosmic life line to steady me

in this giant empty

that reaches on and on

as far as the eye can believe.

Christen Lee is a family nurse practitioner in Cleveland, Ohio. Her writing has been featured in Rue Scribe, The Write Launch, Aurora, Humans of the World, Sad Girls Club, 2022 New Generation Beats Anthology, Wingless Dreamer, The Voices of Real 7 Compilation, Ariel Chart, and The Elevation Review among others.


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