Poetry — July 25, 2016 20:37 — 0 Comments

men in the moon – Charlotte Covey


when you lived in the basement, i dreamt of going down
there, finding you, kissing you, replacing an unnamed ache
with thirteen-year-old love. i wonder if you would have
let me stay.



it was when you whispered, princess. when you held my hand
in the dark, rubbed my back amid frenzy. when i took you
on my knees, confessed every dirty thought i ever had. we forget
what it was like not to know.



i named you gemini. you cusp, you bridge. you moment of
insanity. i never saw myself in you. never attached your name to
my heart. but i can see your face as clear as day. i can hear your voice just
behind my ear.



you will always be here. a quickening, a still birth. you will always be
the poem i can’t finish, a door i can’t close. a needle through a vein.
i never thought bathroom floors could be sacred. i never thought an i love
you could turn so cold.



we built a house in our heads. a townhome in the city. yellow, black-
shuttered. i would have planted flowers, grown tomatoes—       killed
myself in the spare room. taken the house down with me, matches &
candles & gasoline. we were a slow burn.



i thought you were an always. they talked at us like i wore a ring
on my left finger. like we weren’t children. like we’d be. now,
i hear your name in passing, & i don’t shake. i don’t
quiver. i don’t do anything.



i’ll find you in the summer. call you libra moon. hope
for taurus-kindness, capricorn-passion. for cancer-
love. i haven’t met you yet, but i’ve made you. carved a space
in my heart. on my arm.



i was eighteen when you found me. straw hair & dangling limbs
& wrist scars. you were bright eyes & freckled arms— normal.
we met under the moon, but you left me for the sun.



the wind had nothing on you.



every seven years, your skin replaces itself. this poem has been seven
years in the making. you have eyes like gun metal. voice like lyric.
temper, a fist. called me your moon, said i was the glow in the dark.
asked me why i never wrote you poems— they will never be enough.



your ice eyes could melt bone. i saw danger, and i took it. kept it close
to my breast. you swore you never wanted me, but the cold
didn’t lie. there will never be a right time. there will never be
a moment.



i built you a moon where there was only dark, tried to make you
a wishing star. i wish i could say, fuck you, take your darkness and
force it out between my lips; maybe i like it there.


Charlotte is from St. Mary's County, Maryland. She will begin pursuing an MFA in Poetry at the University of Missouri - St. Louis in Fall 2016. She has poetry published or forthcoming in journals such as The Normal School, Salamander Magazine, Slipstream, The MacGuffin, and Cider Press Review. She is co-founder and co-Editor-in-Chief of Milk Journal.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney