Phases: A Lunar Testimony

New Moon
The girl brushes her lips, newly kissed
A lilac scented smile, barely blooming
Remnants of his breath on her cheek,
she wishes on the star that pulses
like a dare, a sultry whisper calling her
towards the dark moonless night
 
Waxing Crescent
The boy sits on a milk crate, upside down
in the breezeway between sleep and sun
Questioning that crescent, thin and sly
face pockmarked with craters like old bruises
His breath ghosts the air, unheard
The sky inhales his questions greedily
 
First Quarter
The Missus is fractured porcelain
much like the shining half-moon
She knows she should leave him,
her knuckles white on the door knob
But glances at the cat in the bed
and their toothbrushes twined on the counter
 
Waxing Gibbous
The Mister slips out a back door quickly,
slick lies already forming on a tongue
well-versed in the chorus of betrayal
The gibbous moon glows down
on his shadow, darting and guilty
A waxing witness he cannot bribe
 
Full Moon
The woman shakes her fist at the moon
its blank face silver and still
It only watched as she was hurt
Her dress ripped like paper,
her voice swallowed by his hand
on that godforsaken night
 
Waning Gibbous
The man washes the antiseptic stink,
yellow soap pooling and bubbling
from hands trembling in exhaustion
His mother now only ashes in a jar
The waning moon needles through blinds,
a sterile spotlight on grief still wet
 
Last Quarter
The elderly woman cries tears,
salt carving paths through rogue and regret
Holding the photo she swore she’d throw away,
she looks back on a life stitched with spite
The quarter moon has eyes unblinking
She wonders if forgiveness can tell time
 
Waning Crescent
The moon itself looks down on the earth
She tilts her crown of stardust and pebbles,
face waning toward the horizon
The rising sun dispels her comfortable dark
She wishes people knew her softer light
simply reveals what was already there.
 
She doesn’t heal. She only shows.