lunar laughter

does the moon have a sense of humor? or is laughter reserved only for the sun? & if the moon does know comedy, is her taste more twisted & morbid than his? the joke was never on you, but you moved through your life as the punchline anyway, convinced the constellations & comets were chortling at your expense. convinced you deserved it. convinced a thirteen-year-old deserved to be unbuckled. convinced a nineteen-year-old deserved shackling. convinced a fifty-eight-year-old deserved rotting. i am convinced of waste. of emptiness. of loss. i am convinced of failure. i am convinced of how they failed you. you can’t just snap a little girl over your knee & leave her bones to become earth. you can’t just snap a little girl over your knee & think she can rebuild herself. she never had a self to rebuild & so they washed you down the river without even so much as a swimsuit nonetheless a life preserver & wonder why you chose to drown. i will meet you at the bottom of the river, i promise. even if it takes all of eternity. & i will hold you & with none of the moon’s anger or humor or lack there of, i will absolve you of what the brackish water never could. your wound & my wound, they are sisters. & like my mother to you, my wound will hold yours until there’s no stitches, no bruise, no fading scar, & all will finally be healed.