Magnetics (From Take The Long Way Home, Unsolicited Press) Poem by Martina Reisz Newberry

The moon has pulled at my hair once again.
I read and read over the stories the meteors
have to tell.
I listen very carefully to the songs
of Aoede, Ananke, Despina, and Eris*
but, it is THE moon—Earth's moon—
that yanks me from true sleep.

To do what?

Make poems, make this imperfect writing,
the words traveling to some unknown place;
maybe to a shrine for shreds of words,
the old words, the discolored and dissolved words
that make up the moon—a moon that will,
one day, be no more a moon.


*Some moons of our solar system