The moon is an object too
on objectification
You can watch me
Like the moon
Full and luminous
Suspended above you
Larger than life
Cradled in the rich blue-black sky; my pedestal of night
Glittering stars adorn me
Dripped out
I mesmerize
And you can’t look away
Believing I look back
Ha!
Does a galaxy gaze at a blade of grass? Or exist for the pleasure of an ant?
Yours is the folly of a grain of sand claiming a
Universe as an actor in its lewd stageplay
How could I be made for your enjoyment?
My tidal forces move you because, like the ocean waves, it is my nature
Not my purpose
I wash you in light
Because that’s what celestial bodies do
So put away your eager, straining fingertips
Cease your crude jeering
You drunken director of nothing
look
Admire
Worship even
But remember I am as made for you as the moon
And even farther out of reach
About the Creator
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I First Saw Him
When I first saw him sitting on the wall, relaxed and looking out over the water, I was sure he wasn't a local. Not including children, there are only about 250 or 300 of us in this area full-time, though that number is ten-fold in the summer, and I know everyone at least by sight or by family resemblance. And yet, the way he sat looked familiar and started my mind sorting and discarding among the families I knew, not quite like this one, not quite like that one.
By Natalie Wilkinson7 days ago in Fiction
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