Earth usually has more than one moon, study suggests

Talin Tahajian

When the last stellar-studded gown swept across the whole

bleeding world, I cried. The pearly night ate me up. Marveling,

you ask, What is it like, living in the larval object? I used to know­—

the same goes for our sloshing planet. Now, I forget most things.

The darkness is round and white. It has become glorious and full.

It’s remarkable­—the way everything glows with the putrid energy

of an oyster mushroom decaying a dead and violated animal.

Long ago, before the end, the pink-grown sky haunted me lengthily

with an old, Western beauty. I was born beneath a sprawling display

of spring-torn clouds. I died the whitest death. Now, incessantly—

I’m bored of being famous; I just want to be a good person. I live in a glade

in an inside-out universe, a spell of sopping moss. Don’t you see?

I have risen from the black smoke of the new Levant, the richest part

where the moon is twice. O, you­—you break my thrashing heart.


Talin Tahajian grew up near Boston. Her poetry has appeared in the Kenyon Review Online, Indiana Review, Best New Poets 2014 & 2016, Black Warrior Review, and Washington Square Review. She edits poetry for Big Lucks and the Adroit Journal, and is an MFA candidate at the University of Michigan.
Title borrowed from a article.