Lua de Mel

by Zoë Dwyer
Santa Fe, New Mexico

The moon is not actually waning.
She's practicing something new,
something inside to spill on the pillow
of the world.

All day we walked through the spice and waft
of a new country. Practicing hello.
Practicing thank you.
Cloves drying on tarps by the roadside.
Five children shouting on one scooter and

We, gone green all over with spring.
Bodies like freshly painted rooms.
Orange peels on the floor
with the damp clothes.

I whisper to you as you sleep:
Break me if I do not carry you
like the old man in the new moon's arms.