Amanda Chiado is a primary teacher enjoying the thrills of motherhood. She graduated with an MFA from California College of Arts and is currently a California Poet in the Schools. She was twice granted scholarships for fiction and poetry to Squaw Valley. Her worked has appeared or is forthcoming in Cranky, Beeswax, the Rambler, Dusie Press, and Fence. Her brother with the broken moon is also a painter named Angelo Chiado. Her other obsessions include, but are not limited to robots, makeup, and lies.
We’ve not been the same since the moon
fell apart piece by one and three and nine.
You lay out in the crash, feel the dusty
moon-skin powder your face real pretty.
The position of your arms says you
aren’t worried about the larger chunks.
Like our lives you say, what falls away
ends up somewhere in the south.
This is one of those real prophecies.
That is why we mustn’t worry about
the weight of our socks. Gravity is
moody. Tonight it fails. It’s all ours.
We’re not interested in what is whole.