Moon, earth's child

My thirsty white mouth sucked at your seas.

Glancing at my pockmarked face, you slipped on your swirling green and blue gown; your shoulder was a beautiful cold curve as you turned away. Even though I was disdained- the plain child, no glow of her own- I succumbed to your pull.

Tugging on your tides, I had time to think: origin myths, who was I anyway? A cosmic collision, wham bam and meteor damn if there wasn’t a little white bun in the galaxy oven. Was I worthy of a name? Nah, just Moon. 

Day in, day out, for 2.5 billion years, I reached out, twitched the hem of your flowing dress: Hey Mum, it’s me! Fruit of your stardust tree! 

Nothing. 

Do you know how hard it was growing up, your scarred satellite, the support act to your main solar show? You were so damned beautiful, the only one that could come close to the sun’s razzle dazzle and not burn with envy. Me? I was just dragged along, part of your galactic ride. I mean, there weren't even any other kids to hang out with. Just me, no-mates Moon. Fun.

Sulking and skulking got me nowhere; I mood- brooded a plan. Broad light of day. What? No way! New dress, a stealthy slip in and, ta- da!- a solar eclipse. Yep, Mum, what d’ya think of my shadowy kiss? It lasted just a few minutes, but watching you in dark lockdown, while I presided for once, Miss Sangfroid, was- honestly?- well it was just bliss. Well worth the cold shoulder you later shoved in my face.

No point lingering on a love I’d never lost. I laced on my big moon boots, it was time for a new phase; to kick down your calendar door, stride right in. Look at me, the unexpected apple that didn’t fall far from the tree; perhaps this would be my lucky thirteenth. Huge, I loomed in our skies, fixed you with my bulging eye.

If you’re only going to notice me once in a blue moon…

No you don't, young lady, up to your room!

A warning to wane: I shrunk myself. Small, smaller, till you couldn’t see me at all. Curled up, luminosity cloaked in loss’s pall. 

On solar winds, time winged by.

I tuned into the song of myself. Four chords, tried and tested; blow me if they didn’t sound good. From majors to minors I shifted around, cranked up the waxing beats, or waned it down: just a slip of crescent sound. 

Freak out on a moonage daydream. Maybe my scream made you flip. How else was I to read your bolt from the deep-space blue, those planetary protégés, all fired up to say hello.

Ok. This was it. I’d forget the broken lines, the unheard calls. What’s a few billion years to finally-made friends? I was ready: queue the actual conversation; o-kay, what? not with you… that’s right, I had to settle once again for the next best thing; children of gold, offspring of light- your human stars. 

Out they jumped. No word of greeting, just boots kicking up my dust; bouncing around, jabbing flags in my ground and standing, hot-smoking heavens, to give themselves a salute. Nice manners you’ve taught them I thought. I extended a welcoming hand:

One small step for man…

Well, what a galactic joke. Bouncing babies, I knew they were yours, as they took and took and took. 21 kilos, to be precise. Yes, they were happy to peel back my skin. Things for their gain, no care for what was within. Finally they got in their tin can, took their treasures back to you. I yelled to their zooming backs:

Space junkies! Never return!

But I was ignored, of course. A string of Apollos you shot my way. A lunar leg- over? Just another string to their bow. 

Twelve boots stomped, twelve legs straddled while I waited and waited for another, other, to touch down. Come! I called. You who’ll get my ebbs and flows; the pull of cycles, life’s tidal throes. Caress my cheek, lay your space face next to mine.

I’m still waiting. 

At least waiting gives time for thought and I tried to process all this cosmic crap. Where did it all come from? When I was your babe in arms, you tasted so sweet: morning dew, babbling brooks, spring showers and summer rain. I swear, nothing could compare to the taste of you. 

Now you only line up killer shots: petroleum-fertiliser-cocaine-spiked shit. I gag, retch, then puke. You want to hear about the hangover? It’s one helluva blackhole: knocking me out with its fist-clench crush.

Nostalgia can be quite a trip when I’m coming round; dazed, trying to remember your old perfume. Lying there, head split with meteor shards, recalling how I’d breathe in deep, inhale the scent of green forests, grassy fields- just a splash of surf. Sigh solar wind. Blow me away from the monoxide, dioxide stuff you spritz all over.

No wonder my skin’s so bad. You’ve got me in a methane chokehold, crater eyes streaming from your toxic reek. Mum, I hate to tell you, but hell do you smell. Look up, see those streaks; you think it’s the Milky Way, but really, it’s your cosmic stink. 

So I guess while we’re straight talking, it’s time to tell you this; for even as I flail in your trail, toss the burn down, I know it’s time at the bar. Last orders Mum, and they’re mine. Look up! That’s me, heading off into the galaxy. I’ll hang out with Herse, shoot some pool with Ganymede, scream songs of tomorrow with Leda; and Tridon’s already said: we’re gonna toast a new night-dawn. Sorry Mum, but there’s just one of you, while I’ve 289 cousins I could shack up with, any time; they can’t wait for me to call. 

So I’ll ring the bell. I’ve tugged and trailed; now it’s time for a new orbit: one where I do all the pulls.