One dark and clear winter night, as I beheld the moon hanging precariously above the tree line, I stretched forth my hand and plucked it right from the sky.
The first thing I noticed was that it wasn’t a sphere as we’d been told. No, it was more like a wheel of cheese. I used it to scoop a generous amount of snow from a drift ‘neath my window.
As it appeared delightful and rare, I placed the entire morsel upon my tongue, letting it sit a moment savoring its precious uniqueness before slowly chewing them both and swallowing.
The second thing I noticed was that it wasn’t bland as I assumed it would be. No, rather it was delectably sweet, like honey with citrus. I smiled and sucked any remaining bits from my fingertips.
The moon rested easily, gently within my belly. It held a cooling, yet comforting, sensation. I gazed back into the night sky, now a star-filled chasm devoid of its magnificent sister’s light.
I felt both unease and contentment. I was filled and happy. Yet the great expanse above my head seemed empty and colder than before. A sense of loss filled my heart.
Many days later, after my belly had swelled until it seemed it would burst with the slightest touch, I found myself out in the night air once again. Squatting in the dirt, panting and moaning, I labored until with a final shout, I birthed a million tiny stars, and one bright beautiful sister.
tara caribou | ©2019
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