Poetry by Emily Moon

              David Prasad CC



Emergence

Two roads diverged –
I took the wrong exit,
landed far from home.

I leaned into something 
I could not define
or look in the eye.

I spun my name 
from twigs, made a nest
for to lay me down.

On bright days,
I  couldn’t see.
Darkness in me

seeped from my eyes
like fog blowing onshore,
oozed from my fingers 

like a flood. Blew 
into corners and cracks. 
Into heat. I suffered 

the weather I created.
What is the meaning of me?
I don’t know the answer. 

I gather the shards of my
shattered mirror, puzzle 
them together. Gaps

from the missing pieces shine
like the deeps of space. I am
those holes, wholly complete.

Holy me.

​

Emily Moon is a transgender poet. Her publications include the poetry collection It’s Just You and Me, Miss Moon (First Matter Press); and under the name Peter Hamer, appearances in Take a Leap, Spank the Carp, Cæsura, 2020 Clackamas County Poets and Artists Calendar, and A Poet’s Agora Confinement Poetry Collection.

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