You were the moon.
No, not like that.
This isn’t a poem about the soft guiding light
of a waxing gibbous, reminding me of the silver hair
trailing down Artemis’ back.
No.
You were the moon to me.
NASA’s rockets use the gravity of the moon like a slingshot
so they can head to Mars with the right trajectory and speed.
You were science to me. You had gravity I could use
to get much, much further away from you than I ever was before.
My little rocket ship wasn’t aimed at the light that you gave off –
cheap imitation and faded effort of a star.
No.
I was always headed to a frontier you couldn’t dream of
because honey, you were just a rock.
Metro-Minded 