Gibbous Reflection

 

Astronauts swore the ragged rocks

beneath their boots and the grimy 

particles on their space suits

were gray as gunpowder, then black

as night sky, your backdrop, back home 

(as if a starless ceiling). Yet the whitest

hues—chalky, ghostly, bloodless—

have remained the archetype,

though credentialed scientists have proven

your surface is a broken mirror, crunched 

into jags and shards, morphed into

meanings and myths of fertility. 

…..

This poem first appeared in J Journal, and can be found in the chapbook Playthings by Ilan Mochari (Finishing Line Press) at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/playthings-by-ilan-mochari/