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Emily Moon

Scattered Light


Maybe we are all shattered mirrors.

Our fragmented reflections

each carry something whole.

Instead of one large version of ourselves,

there are many small visions.


* * * * *


If only we could hold ourselves

with the tenderness we yearn for.

Bathe ourselves with love,

radiate our aspirations into the night,

become beacons for those

whose troubles mirror our own.


* * * * *


What if being shattered

is a transition to being whole?

If by breaking apart,

we release our brokenness?

We'd mosaic our pieces

into a telescope reflector,

gather scattered light

into clear images of self,

shine our truth

into the night.



My Boobs


are especially sensitive

this morning,

maybe because

it's Moonday.


Wayward memory

transports me

to the future,

where my transition

is finished,

my breasts as large

as they will grow.


A glance at the clock

on my computer

dashes my revery,

reminds me to

get ready for work.


I sigh, stow

breakfast dishes

in the dishwasher,

bereft little boats

waiting for the rain

of transformation

to rise from the spinning

wings of planning

and chance.


I shave the still

too numerous

hairs on my face,

slather my face

with concealer

and foundation,

mascara my brows,

apply lipstick,

gather my purse

and lunch.


My boobs are

tender bowls

of pleasure as I

rush out the door

toward the eternal now

that awaits.

Emily Moon (she/her) is a queer transgender poet from Portland, Ore. She is author of "It’s Just You & Me, Miss Moon" and Editor at First Matter Press. She was a semi-finalist for the Banyan Review Poetry Prize. Her work includes appearances in or forthcoming from Pile Press, Boats Against the Current, Culinary Origami, Empyrean Literary, On the High Journal, and elsewhere. She is on Instagram @emilymoonpoet and Facebook at Emily.Moon.57. Her link tree is:

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