This whole making the moon explode thing is getting to me. Okay, I know it’s not the whole moon, just a tiny portion on the dark side by the craters. And I know it’s not supposed to affect us, our fields or tides or anything, in any way. It’s just to see if there’s water. Still, somehow it’s bugging me.
So what did I do but write two poems about the moon.
Sort of the opposite advice from what Paul Chowder (the poet protag from The Anthologist) told his workshop students at a conference, which was that he gets the initial impulse to write by thinking about the best thing that happened to him that day. I do that sometimes, but today it was all earth motherly concern about my moon that started the words flowing.
And I think I should have this book of poems up and ready to look at by the new moon in a few weeks.