“The moon is backing away from us, an inch and a half each year. That means if you’re like me and were born, around fifty years ago the moon, was a full six feet closer to the earth. What’s a person supposed to do? I feel the gray cloud of consternation, travel across my face. I begin thinking, about the moon-lit past, how if you go back, far enough you can imagine the breathtaking, hugeness of the moon, prehistoric, solar eclipses when the moon covered the sun, so completely there was no corona, only, a darkness we had no word for. And future eclipses will look like this: the moon, a small black pupil in the eye of the sun. But these are bald facts. What bothers me most is that someday, the moon will spiral right out of orbit, and all land-based life will die. The moon keeps the oceans from swallowing, the shores, keeps the electromagnetic fields, in check at the polar ends of the earth. And please don’t tell me, what I already know, that it won’t happen, for a long time. I don’t care. I’m afraid, of what will happen to the moon. Forget us. We don’t deserve the moon. Maybe we once did but not now, after all we’ve done. These nights, I harbour a secret pity for the moon, rolling, around alone in space without, her milky planet, her only child, a mother, who’s lost a child, a bad child, a greedy child or maybe a grown boy, who’s murdered and raped, a mother, can’t help it, she loves that boy, anyway, and in spite of herself, she misses him, and if you sit beside her, on the padded hospital bench, outside the door to his room you can’t not, take her hand, listen to her while she, weeps, telling you how sweet he was, how blue his eyes, and you know she’s only, romanticizing, that she’s conveniently, forgotten the bruises and booze, the stolen car, the day he ripped, the phones from the walls, and you want, to slap her back to sanity, remind her, of the truth: he was a leech, a fuck up, a little shit, and you almost do, until she lifts her pale puffy face, her eyes, two craters and then you can’t help it, either, you know love when you see it, you can feel its lunar strength, its brutal pull.”
— Dorianne Laux
The scanner makes my white ink glow.