by ARIELLE LINN (Myanmar)
Issue 2.1 April 2020
In the thousand faceless poems I've read
the moon has never been named a “him.”
"He" had been a moon when "she" was the sun.
It has been a silver-chipped tooth
a force of untrifled gravity,
has been the envious moon, Romeo calls out to his lover by the balcony—
[arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon].
The moon and its eclipses, they say, how mysterious.
Alas, I have never found the moon mysterious,
nor a source of crippling loneliness,
nor a beauty so divine i couldn't bear to part.
was a he
I felt I could've loved.
Arielle Linn, 15, always thought about this piece when she thought of the moon. She doesn’t like gender very much, but she thinks that a "him’" for a moon could be pretty.