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
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