New Moon

By Karen Morris

It has no light of its own,
so tell me please, what color am I
in tonight’s moonlight?

Set upon the lunar crust
green and blue moon-diamonds
seemingly everywhere,
brought home to Earth in laboratory jars-
stored for twelve long months
in case of infection.
More rare were the orange ones.

A bowl of sunlight in 1969,
the moon caught us, in its own reflection
each shining, unprotected face’s worth
of spotless moon-beams.

By 2009 the moon’s a junk yard,
a bone-knob, jet-mound of heavenly trash.
Even so there are nights
when beams flare out
in bright blue swatches.
We walk the fields
before our sleep, dreaming.

It has no light of its own,
from here, its crust no diamonds.
Tell me now, what color am I
in tonight’s moonless
silence?


Karen Morris is a New York state licensed psychoanalyst in private practice in Manhattan and Westchester. She is currently a candidate in NYU’s Postdoctoral Special Studies Program on Trauma and Disaster.

2 Responses to New Moon

  1. Sara Lavner says:

    Dear Karen, I was entranced, I loved the poem. Sara

  2. Melanie Zarabi says:

    Lovely – Luminous for one moment; defunct the next!

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