Pin It
Favorite

I’m beginning to understand why some people worship the moon. She is solitary but consistent, and she comes to me at the end of the day’s loneliest hour.  

I never looked for the moon in the city. She appeared a few times, unsought, from behind a high-rise, seeming solemn and dismayed at my vice-filled hands. I would turn away and let the lesser halogen light haze away my sober moment.

Here she does not dictate guilt. The Humboldt hills are the arms of a trusted lover, and she sits easy in their embrace. She is happy I am home at last, my bright, benevolent friend. I raise my face to her in trust when I am lonely.

She is not like the sun, who burns my retinas and leaves a neon imprint of regret bobbing in my vision. The moon is homely and accessible. She diets one week and plumps the next. She lets men trample her surface but stays poised, unscathed, serene. I’m beginning to understand why some people worship the moon.

Pin It
Favorite

Comments

Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

About The Author

Linda Stansberry

Linda Stansberry

Bio:
Linda Stansberry was a staff writer of the North Coast Journal from 2015 to 2018.

more from the author

  • Pigs and Whiskey

    Alchemy Distillery partners with the Sheriff's Work Alternative Program to offset waste, feed porkers
    • Apr 15, 2021
  • Saturday Morning Shots

    Inside Mad River Community Hospital's mass vaccination clinic
    • Apr 1, 2021
  • Third Street Refuge

    How the end of a local nurse's AirBnB dream became something bigger
    • Feb 18, 2021
  • More »

Latest in Poetry

Care2 Take Action?

Readers also liked…

socialize

Facebook | Twitter

© 2021 North Coast Journal

Website powered by Foundation