Hijacked Moon

Once, when the moon was peacefully in orbit,

someone hijacked the moon.  It was surprising

because no one even knew that anyone had even gone

to the moon.  The government checked with NASA,

and NASA checked with China and Russia,

and Elon Musk and Virgin were called but

everyone threw their arms up in disgust

and ignorance.  And all the while the media broadcast

live updates and opinions about the moon hijacking

and the talking heads speculated as to who

could’ve done such a thing - was it terrorists,

Al-Qaeda perhaps, or some secret government conspiracy

but really, no one was watching the screens

because they all went outside and looked up at the night

sky, at the full moon and watched it slowly being dragged

out of orbit, slowly growing smaller and smaller, a sight

that no one had ever witnessed before, it was literally

awesome.  Twenty four hours later the world was in crisis

as the moon was the size of a beach ball and the tides,

the tides didn’t know what to do, they were swelling

and receding and swelling, and whole islands were swallowed

into the sea while these great men, real pillars

of masculinity, football players and muscle strapped

businessmen wept, were weeping, as if the faucets of their eyes

could not be turned off, there was so much water from tears

in the streets, floods arose, so much blissful sorrow

at the departing of the moon.  There was a moment, remembered

by all now, remembered by the children most of all, when

the moon went from the size of a beach ball in the sky,

to the size of a pinhole, and then just disappeared, disappeared

forever.  This sudden grief and feeling of loss settled

into the consciousness of the Earth like a cloud,

a thick cloud and the questions then became -

what do we do now?  what do we look at at night?

to what do we write poetry? what will motivate us

to dance in the street in the middle of the night?  

what will happen to the balance of the planet

without sacred feminine energy?  

The councils convened, large assemblies assembled

and discussed, bittersweet symphonies were composed

in honor and memory, tributes and museums were constructed

to remember, to never forget the moon, the great orb

that had forever been the closest celestial object

to the Earth, close enough to witness all of history, luminous

and magnetic in its brilliant light.  

Years later, after the period of just darkness

at night and only the light of the stars, la fase

sin luna, there were whispers of what had happened

to the moon.  Some said it had collided

with another moon, perhaps one of neptune’s,

this the astronomers said, others whispered

that it had been wrestled to a distant, but not too distant

solar system, and that this was proof that intelligent life

exists outside the Earth - some other alien form needed

or wanted our moon bad enough to steal it - and still,

others whispered that really, there never had been a moon

in the first place, that this moon thing

had just been a governmental propaganda item,

regardless of all the photographs and videos

of the moon.  

Finally, after centuries, I still remember

the day, I was sitting on the sea foam

green sofa with a cup of coffee in my hand

while Lena was playing brio trains

with the kids in the other room,

when the announcement came -

there was a team of scientists who had cloned

the moon!  They were growing a new moon

in some laboratory somewhere.  It was a relief

and all at once, the hearts of humanity were more

balanced.  We never did find out who

hijacked the moon in the first place.