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The Girl Who Held The Moon
When she returns from the hospital
With a passive look on her face
And her lip clenched between her teeth
I don't ask her if it's bad news;
I just pull her into a tight hug
She doesn't spend her last few days
Sky diving or robbing a bank
Partying or confessing love
Instead, she brings me to the rooftop
In the midst of a humid summer night
The moon hangs over our heads
It is cradled by a constellation of stars
And sleeps with an eye open, watches over us
"Before I'm gone" she whispers, "I want to bring you the moon"
She's bringing her fingers up to it now
And pretends to hold it between her fingertips
And she is breathing in the thick, stale smell
Of cigars and dirt
She is letting the scent cling to her shirt, like a needy child
Until she knows it will not let go
And I ask her why
She tells me that it does not smell of perfume or roses
But it smells of memories and nostalgia
It smells of ginger tea and midnight tree climbs
It smells of home
A scent no department store
Can sum up in a cheap, glass bottle
She falls in and out of consciousness throughout the night
Eyes lighting up and fading out like lightning bugs
Her hair is wilting away, a perishing rose
And I want to gather each petal in my arms
And piece them back together
Before they turn to dust
Time goes by
She is tinier every time I see her
She looks like she has aged ten years in ten days
And as tears brim to the surface of her eyes
Like the taut bones of her cheeks
She keeps talking about the future
See, she loves to speak of the future
Of where she will live when she is married
And what kinds of flowers she will plant in her garden
And though she is a pile of distressed tears and tired limbs right now
She does not let that stop her from dreaming
She still tells me about the future like it's a matter-of-fact
She tells me about how we will travel to New York and LA together
And how one day, her child will have her eyes and her husband's smile
See, she is down to earth
Yet her feet never quite touch the ground
And I tell her about the future, too
Even when I notice that her eyes have fallen shut
And the shuddering of her slim, tree branch arms have stopped
I keep talking
I pretend she is awake for just a little longer;
The girl who held the moon
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