Moonborn

Aura Guerra-Artola

I am the Moon’s daughter.

Forever shifting rooms

within the skin I call home.

My light has crossed the tides,

so have my shadows.

I leave pieces—

memory like bark,

fallen

between full and hollow.

I lay in the hands of the earth

what in mine has completed

its cycle—

in case she wills

that it might bloom anew

for someone else.

More from Aura Guerra-Artola ↓

• @g.a.aura on Instagram
• Her book, How to Live with a Cat on Your Chest and a Whale in Your Heart, is out now

Mentioned in this episode:

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I’m filling the next chapter of One Poem Only and would love to include your work. Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. New this round: if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. No need for a perfect studio recording—just a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space. If you choose this option, you’ll submit your poem and an audio file of you reading it. Submissions close Thursday, July 30. I’ll respond by August 12. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you’re ready to share.

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