Supermoon
Aug 31 2023
The moon
will never be closer to earth
than this.
And as it rises
just above the horizon
the disc looks impossibly big,
looming over me
and glowing moodily
with orange-yellow light.
And when I return to earth
and eye the ground ahead
I'm drawn inexorably back,
as if some new kind of gravity
that acts on human consciousness
had me in its thrall.
Its crated surface
is so sharply defined
it feels I could reach out and touch
its craggy ridges and blasted rock
and finely sifted dust.
That something so big
doesn't fall from the sky
seems to defy intuition
let alone the laws of physics.
But there it is, hovering airily;
and I’ve never felt more aware
of the vastness of the universe
than seeing this super-sized moon
wherever I turn.
Nor more aware
of my own insignificance,
scurrying about, ant-like
down here on earth.
Too small
to even cast a shadow
in its overpowering light.
A mercifully short one. I always end up liking those best.
Not sure “ant-like” is any good: hardly original! But somehow, it insisted on being put there.
A supermoon is when the moon is at its closest point of orbit to earth. This won't happen again until 2037. But this time, it is also a “blue” moon: when it's full twice in the same month.
For me, the poem came out of the blue as well. It's been overcast, and I haven't been following the lunar cycle. But suddenly there it was, rising through the trees: an orange-yellow orb that seemed impossibly large, every feature of its surface sharply honed.
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