I only ever see the moon
in the morning
early— before you’re awake—
as birdsong first trills from hallowed
branches to welcome the inevitable day.
She’s there for me—
bright and knowing—
as I chant my little blessings and adorations
in the clear dark, speckled with stars
(so few in the city yet their sisters
burn bright, or did long ago)
I whisper to myself—
but she is waning now
and gauzy haze shrouds her edges
and blinking streetlights distract me
and bitter cold creeps down my collar
and
the sun will be rising soon.
I crane my neck to keep her in sight
until the ache at the base of my skull
reminds me: she’s always there
pulling on me
whether or not
I can see.
L. D’Arcy Blackwell is a poet based in St. Louis, MO. She earned her Bachelor's Degree in French from Lindenwood University and currently works as a community-oriented fitness professional. Her short fiction has been published in The Writer’s Workout, and her poetry will be included in the upcoming Spring 2025 debut issue of Winnow Literary. She is a queer mother raising humans, cats, and chickens.