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My Palms are Full of Moonlight and You

Celina Bagchi '24


Legend has it the moon came from a duck who laid its eggs on the daughter of the air. When the eggs cracked, the whites became the moon, the yolks became the sun, and the shell fragments turned into stars.


I like to pretend that people are kind of like that.


Accidents.

But maybe not mistakes.


Like maybe the wind rustling leaves on trees leaves

Marks on my heart and scars shaped like crescent moons

On my lips.


I like to believe that I’ll die in a lake with the taste of honeysuckles and stardust on my lips,

Reaching for the full moon and falling into the black sea,

In love and slightly drunk, letting liquor warm the ice in my veins.


The water cuts the moon, cuts my body, cuts my vision down to black;

Tonight, I’ll wade into the lake and pretend I am more than fragments of eggshells that shattered millennia ago.


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