"Pocket Moon" she carried the moon in her pocket a dead rock smacked with sunlight a pock-marked cycling-sphere. girls weren’t supposed to wear clothes with pockets they carried purses. but not her she carried the moon. the moon-less called her erratic, fitful. she could always tell when it was full. she would find herself humming and sometimes howling. and when it was new well, she would find herself in the dumps with humpty dumpty. but she managed to put herself back together again and again and again until all of the light leaked from her pocket into her bones. moon waxed and waned. the perfection of her crescent Smiled. the moon-less envied her. she shrugged and carried on.
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