The Moon in Poetry

Dear Moon

I have been meaning to write for some while now

though I know you have received countless such notes

from poets who came before me and who will come after.

You must remember Keats how he watched you

through his consumption writing by candlelight

until his lungs gave way. And Plath furious

and brilliant who saw in your face

her own fractured beauty.

I wonder if you tire of our devotion

our endless need to make you a symbol

and metaphor when you are simply

yourself a celestial body in orbit

pulling tides and dreams with equal force.

Tonight, I sit here thinking of all

the voices you have heard, poetic souls,

work songs under your glow, soldiers

writing final letters home, children

making wishes on your crescent smile.

Do you remember the night Neruda

composed his odes in Chile or when

Angelou first found her voice

after years of silence? You were there

for both weren't you faithful observer.

The new poets still call your name

they type it into phones, text it

to lovers post it on screens

that glow like tiny moons themselves.

The medium changes the longing remains.

I write because I need you to know

we still look up. Despite the city lights

that try to wash you out. Despite

our busy lives that forget wonder.

We still need your ancient presence.

Thank you for being constant

in a world that spins beneath us.

Thank you for the way you make

even the loneliest among us

feel part of something eternal.

With affection and gratitude,

A voice among voices