Dear Moon,
You must have felt it first,
the tremor of footsteps that were not your own.
After all the centuries of staring down at oceans,
of pulling tides like strings on a harp,
suddenly, we reached up and touched you.
Tell me, how did it feel, that first boot print
pressed into your ancient dust?
Did it sting, like memory,
or did it feel like a long-awaited hand
finally brushing yours across the dark?
We watched from a hundred million living rooms,
hearts flickering like static,
Earth holding its breath,
while Armstrong spoke
small words that shifted history.
You, silver and still,
became the mirror of our becoming.
Did you laugh at our trembling voices,
our fragile flags, our need to leave a mark,
to say we were here in your light?
Or did you, in your way,
forgive our wonder,
the way a mother forgives a child
for climbing too high to reach her face?
I imagine you kept that footprint safe,
the way one keeps a letter,
creased, lunar, and full of meaning,
just to remind yourself
that even silence can be answered.
Yours always,
from the blue world below.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.



Comments (4)
Magnificent! 🎉💪🏾
A delightful poem & take on the challenge!
Great take on this prompt, I expect it to do well
Tim you have to tell me what inspired this poem. ( I should say please let me know) this is terrific. Does this fit a challenge?