Bruising the Moon

by Monet Sutch

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Sponge

If the pain remains immovable
Erase it.

Destroy the tablets documenting our story.
Erase you from the scripture of my memory.

Edit:

I was never hired.
Never worked at that stupid pizza store.

You never kissed me in the walk in.
I never fixed your bike while you were white water rafting in the Grand Canyon.

You never fucked her on a boat in the Grand Canyon.
I never found that postcard about her missing your sex boat 4 years later.

You never called me Sugar.
I never held your pain like a sacrilegious Pieta.

You never pulled me out from behind that waterfall.
Never butt dialed me while fucking her in the back of a taxi cab.

If the pain remains immovable
Forget.

Pray I forget you
In a sick fit of love lost amnesia.

The compounding grief of betrayal
Just old water wrung out of a moldy sponge.



“God are you there/Are you standing in the shadow of my sorrow/Yet”
-Emily Kendall Frey

Casting A God Shadow

Your hands
Spent countless nocturnal hours
Thinning paint
On canvases to tune the colors of my mother’s face
The pearling folds of her wedding dress -

Now balled up, bristling,

Blistered, and split.

Your hands
Once calloused with empathy
Built a swingset in my sundrunk honor
Immortalized your adoration in portraiture
Cast a monument to my smile -

Now slamming doors, throwing chairs,

Cursing my name for being less you.

It is hard to be an

An artist

Starved.

This is you doing your best.

But you only love me
When I attempt to fill the fading outline
Of your shadow.

When I take the shape of your reflection
You wrap me in your heart’s blue ribbons.

When I try on authentic skin, luminous, desirous,
You devastate me like hands crashing through spider silk.

Fibers flayed in still, soft wind
Clinging to a gone home.

You give you god.
Adopt yourself in his place.

Cast a shadow

Not even you can stand in.



Long Division

That little shrunken place in your stomach -
The one that carried me for 8 and a half months
Before they cut me out like an avocado pit –
Wants me enwombed again
Sealed in your body so I can never leave you

Like he’s leaving you now

My hand frozen on the handle of the car door
Parked in front of that stupid punk house
Still buckled in
You buckled over
Crying into the steering wheel

Little avocado pit
Monuments of emptiness

I’d like to locate perfect words for you
Ones to drought your tears and make you smile again
but unless I can find a way to crawl into your heart
Plant a thousand suns, tides, and wildflowers
And stay there long enough to see them grow
Into a thriving, giggling, shimmering planet
My words will be as empty as the space I left behind
When they cut me out of you

I should be planting flowers in you
I should be reaching out to hug you
I should be crying with you
I should be fishing your laughter out of the river Acheron
I should be Demeter
Casting the world in ice until you return

But I’m not Demeter

I’m just a kid
I’m just a kid who doesn’t know how to save you
I’m just a kid who needs you
I’m just a kid
Who is afraid of what I will become
If you decide
That death is better
Than all this leaving

If I am the moon
You are the sea
I want you to be happy
So I

shift gravity

hold your tides in the sky

plant myself at the bottom of your breaking

We are so adaptable
So prone to shoulder silence
Like a proud dynasty

The sky is full of silver fish and bubbling blue water
The moon is bound to trenches

Neither one of us
Is smiling


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Monet Sutch is a 26 year old college student living in Portland, Oregon. Writing and literature have been sources of sanctuary and safety for Monet since she was a child. Her work focuses on family, identity, recollection of trauma through different lenses, and using curiosity as a necessary tool to approach all things existential, ethereal, and human. Monet has been published in The Bridge and Chaleur Magazine.