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by Pam Yve Simon

You are camouflaged in your galaxy comforter:
constellations stream across your shoulders,
plush planets are nestled in the palm of your hand,
I can’t tell where the universe begins or ends.

The Moon helps
moderate the climate,
roll the tide,
direct the migration
of birds and butterflies.

Every night, we travel to the Moon.
We pantomime getting into bulbous space suits
and buckle up. We give one another a nod,
a thumbs-up.

When we are on the Moon,
every difficult thing on Earth
a little less.

One day, you will go to the Moon by yourself.
I reassure myself, I know:
you will surf the obsidian tides of space,
you will sail through onyx seas of starlit wishes,
you were made to ruffle the ebony feathers of the universe.

Back here on Earth,
you wake in the middle of the night,
tumble through
the dimly lit hallway between our rooms,
throw open
my bedroom door.
You tell me you don’t know why
you wake up, you don’t know how
you find your way.
You just know
that you are always
pulled back
to me.


Featured Poet of the Month Pam Yve Simon
Pam Yve Simon (she/her) earned her bachelor of arts in English and American literature from New York University. Her writing has appeared in print and online publications, including Stanchion, Fahmidan Journal, Northern Otter Journal, and The Daily Drunk’s Marvelous Verses anthology. Her photography has appeared in FERAL, Kissing Dynamite, and Acropolis Journal. Enjoy more of her work at

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