For the second night, I ascend a ladder to the moon,

each rung pulling me closer to its effulgence. Air turns cooler,

enveloping my skin, stinging my nostrils more with each step.

Once my slippered feet poise on the moon’s edge, I glance

at Earth’s oceans and continents, realizing the light

has vanished from my vacant bedroom’s window.

I twirl to see how it feels to be free of my planet’s gravity,

released from restraints of corsets and sequined gowns

and boys of Mother’s choice escorting me at receptions.

The shame of fooling the world with our arms linked

outweighs pain of 240,000 miles separating me

from my girl, blonde and brilliant, who I kiss secretly.

I imagine her, robe draped from her shoulders, sharing

the stars of the universe, chatting about escaping

to Jupiter and Neptune where we’d never say goodbye.

Every night, the moon hovers at my window. Even as it wanes,

I rely on its gleaming sliver, coaxing me

out of my sheets with its unrelenting friendly glow.

I tiptoe through dust, explore the divots and every imperfection.

I gaze at other moons and worlds I could dance on,

wondering who else has answered the call of the moon.

MAKAILA AARIN (she/her) works as an academic librarian in Mississippi where she lives with her three rescue dogs. She holds degrees in English, library science, and education. Currently, she is pursuing an MFA in creative writing. Her poetry has appeared in Prismatica Magazine, Stone of Madness, Poetically Magazine, Dwelling Literary, and other magazines. Her work is forthcoming in Versification Zine and Sinister Wisdom. Find her on Twitter: @makaila_aarin.