Printed from WriteWords -

Theia`s child

by  nickb

Posted: Wednesday, May 29, 2019
Word Count: 115
Summary: A bit late coming to the table for Oonah's request for moon poems, but here it is anyway.

You hang there in your death, an orange bud.
Your rising fat on the skyline ages 
me clockwise – I’d follow your long arc to 
eek out each minute, but you keep sluggish
time for one so fast. A mute repeater, 
proud of what your beauty once was, but now 
your dial is splayed there, cracked, pitted past 
repair.  Deep lesions spell out your maker’s 
name, a one-off work by a blundering 
master.  And now you are captive, forced to 
exhibit your slow measure, muscled by
unsparing light and a callous sister,
bright with burning cold, without hope of any
resurrection. Shards of your reflection
fall at my feet. Your hands wash in the tides.