“Earth tilts. If He was a bench the marble would fall. Earth tilts. The liquid is slightly higher over there… See? Just that side. Earth tilts. Left arm feels funny… not always. Uneven. You want him but he’s poison. You want her but she’s honey. You’re allergic. Plastic toys slide to corners of the room as Earth tilts. Now they can’t reach. The tilt gets larger but you don’t notice. Crumbles into nothing and your neighbourhood falls off the edge of the universe. You make tea and argue about tax.
Moon pulls. Me to you. Hot to cinder. Melt to honey. Ins to outs. Tides to currents to days to sand to shells to molluscs to barbecue seafood dinners. Courtyards and watering dead cacti. As Moon watches. Laughing about television. Drinking wine and looking up at Moon. Smiling once a month. All the while, Moon pulls.
Sun warms. Hides sometimes. Cries sometimes. Listens to lies sometimes. Flicks its’ rays to a gun of hatred and pride. Sun warms. Warm my heart, please. Too warm now. Push me into the shade of an apple tree. Make apple pie with my thoughts. Sun warms… Hates that we think all she can do is warm. Sun isn’t here for you. Sun warms and gets tired. Plays guitar when Moon is in charge. Tinkles and taps on frets, strums with calloused fingers to the beat of Earth tilting and Moon pulling. Tides tiring.
Earth tilts. Moon pulls. Sun warms. And here you are, little dancer. Acting like you are an unknown joy to Earth. Lacing point shoes with the care of seaweed. Plucking tutus from tights, and turning with the rays of tides. You move like you can feel it: Earth swaying. You move like Moon is pulling you to his chest. Eyes close like forever. Feel them move.You are a piece of the Universe.”
– Mollie Yang