Calling Out the Moons of Mars

A Boston suburb's street lights snap on with an insect's buzz,
and clear the way
for the darkness of a planet so poor in brotherhood,
its mark of rage blighting the path
of the night sky. Not for the first time, I asked,
"What are its moons?"
and not for the first time, my father answers,
"Phobos and Demos."
Such rancor among satellites, they could be
bound for Earth, bound for this very backyard, even.
But I can do more. I can hold up my hand
to blot their invisible, poor flame of scarlet, bled white.

Meg Smith is a poet, writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass. Her poems have appeared in The Cafe Review, Pudding, Poetry Bay,The Horror Zine, Silver Blade, Raven Cage, The Blue Hour Anthology, and many more.

Her short fiction collection The Plague Confessor is available at her online store! megsmithwriter.com

Her most recent poetry books, Pretty Green Thorns, Night's Island, This Scarlet Dancing and Dear Deepest Ghost, are available on Amazon.

Find more by Meg Smith in the Author Index.