The moon is exactly at its halfway point.
Half-moon dark. Half-moon light.
It is neither waxing nor waning, I point out.
Wrong, he says.
It must be one or the other.
So, that’s it?
La Luna remains trapped
in a rut of obligational celestial must do’s.
No time to rest, no space for a deep cavernous breath.
Wax wane wax wane wax wane wax.
She must be reliable, steady, faithful,
surrendering to demanding oceans and clusters of nosey astronomers
peeking through telescopes
as she shuttles through her appointed solar system track.
She envies the shooting star.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anne Shedden-Willis writes from Melbourne, Florida, where she lives in a three-generation and multiple-pet household. Her work has appeared in several publications including Mothers Always Write, Mulberry Fork Review, the Christian Science Monitor, and The Tower Journal.