Emily Vance Brown

by Adrian Sobol

The Moon demands to be taken
seriously. Me too. So I write a letter,
address it, lick the envelope shut.

Dear Moon, come back, we have so much
in common. Let’s hang out sometime.
I haven’t worn my floral dress since

that summer in the commune,
salting my body with sage
to cleanse the houses

inside me. The ghosts 
just won’t leave. They harbor.
They feast. They say

the sky is indifferent
without you. Stars go quiet
one by one like distant ships.

If I were a constellation
I’d have burned out
in front of everyone too.

They’d call me Argos
after Odysseus’ dog
who waited to die

until his master could 
watch. Hey, Moon
I don’t believe in

astrology. I still
know exactly who I am.
I forgive myself

for it once a day.
Moon, please
I just want to be seen

as anybody else. That summer,
when I saw my portrait
For the first time, I was touched.

It looked nothing like me.
I said Thank you.
It looks nothing like me.