Kristi Maxwell

Moons

It was the kind of night
where stars had nothing
to say, muted by industry.
We call it light pollution.
It’s hard to think
of light littering
anything, wads
of light, the sun
itself a cup
lid detached
from the full
cup of sky.
It’s invented light
that wounds, carving
night’s moles right
off its skin, without
need or permission, knowing
full well the stars weren’t going
to turn cancerous. Not the first
time caution has been used
to justify a violence.
An article clings to its
noun like a needy light.
What spotlight isn’t
though. That
beam has always
been a straw
we’re drawn up
despite a stubborn
viscosity, a budgeless-
ness. I wonder at the dark
day. When we’ll learn
we’ve exhausted our budget
of light. I hear already what
we’ll say. Let’s just make more.
As if we could boss the factory of stars.

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Kristi Maxwell is the author of seven books, including My My (Saturnalia Books, 2020) and Bright and Hurtless (Ahsahta Press, 2018). She is an assistant professor of English at the University of Louisville.