Returning Home

by Moonlight

 

Say with your limbs: my body is not a weapon.

My body is a vehicle for softness

My body is a home to Tender

and strength and kindness

 

The branches of this tree lift up to embrace the sky, do not carve themselves into spears

The mouth of this river spills open only to quench the valley

Boulders sit, quiet, patient; anticipate nothing.

 

My body does not say I’m Sorry

because it has nothing to apologize for.

Fields stretch wide awaiting the gentle fall of rain, joyful splash, the growth of flowers.

My body blooms movement, gifts a flurry of shape

Says to the open air: we are one breeze

Says: we are here together.

Moonlight (they/theirs) is a queer femme poet and performance artist. They have been a longtime featured artist with the Poetry Society of New York and their work has been shown globally, defying genre via mixed mediums of ground and aerial dance, performance art, sculpture, and poetry. Through work that examines the function of trauma in interpersonal experience, Moonlight aims to confront ancestral pain, perpetuate compassion, and heal the self & the audience simultaneously. Their work can be found on Instagram at @moonlight.uncensored, and through the PSNY website.