Jan 30, 2017 | 2 comments

The moon is formed from many tiny moons.

Debris from earth once flung through stale abyss

took years to make a thing worth looking at.

A girl is not unlike the moon; slowly

she cultivates her moonlets; no one sees

her fuse, explode, collapse, collect, take shape.

Admire the deconstructed moon for all

her parts, recycled to fit an unwashed dream,

(she can not see the finish—wants to burn

so others will notice her midnight ooze)

Or just ignore the nebula until

her fullness gets to be too much for night

and seeps through clouded gloom reminding you

to count your breaths, recall you have so few.

She takes the impacts, builds from earth’s loose dust.

Her craters endure; you howl at her pull.

She’s not an ornament; she moves the tides.

About the Author

Julia Lewis

Julia Lewis

Writer & Editor

Julia is a junior Media Arts and Design major with a concentration in Digital Video and Cinema
pursuing minors in sociology and creative writing. When she isn’t writing dance-heavy sketch comedy and managing the PR for Maddy Night Live, she’s adding commas to other people’s writing as a copy-editor for HerCampus JMU. Though her current career goal is to write for television, her varied interests (including poetry, layout design, and creative essay-writing) keep her in a fun state of uncertainty about the future.
She has been the recipient of the Blanche Garrett Memorial Endowment and the Madison Screenwriting Scholarship, both within the School of Media Arts and Design. Julia is a writer and editor for Pulp