Ashley Cline
. . .& other tricks to keep us warm
discovered by astronomers on Feb.15, 2020 using the Catalina Sky Survey (CSS) in Arizona, earth’s new mini-moon—officially called 2020 CD3—has most likely been in her orbit since 2017. pulled between the gravity of the moon & the gravity of earth, this new mini-moon, with
its chaotic orbit, will soon slip away from both, however, & join the other asteroids—the rubble from the birth of our solar system—hurtling around the sun. earth’s new mini-moon, only the second ever recorded, is only temporary.
you feel it in the jaw, first. the bone-saw fever of waking a
sleeping mouth inside of a country at war with a country
at war with a country at war with a country at war with a
country at war with / here, we chew our asteroids whole
& fill our bellies to burst with constellation orts & pleasure
thaw. this fickle-fanged wilderness & how she blooms only
after we’ve left the room—oh, how we fill her cheeks with
conifer gossip & honey-haloed little things / anyway. & it’s
funny how we call this worship, & mean it. because we’ve
heard the plum tree’s poetry, before, & we know how the
story ends, eventually—we know how she’ll turn her verb
laced petals to the sun & name new planets after old loves.
we know how she’ll plant lemon orchards & juniper moons
& kiwi stars & apologies where the earth has the most to
grieve & oh—we know we know we know we know we
know, but today / we’ll take her hands like baskets,
carefully. & we’ll think, quite happily: oh, didn’t we
grow lean in the winter months, love, & sing
of how lovely it is to be full?
its chaotic orbit, will soon slip away from both, however, & join the other asteroids—the rubble from the birth of our solar system—hurtling around the sun. earth’s new mini-moon, only the second ever recorded, is only temporary.
you feel it in the jaw, first. the bone-saw fever of waking a
sleeping mouth inside of a country at war with a country
at war with a country at war with a country at war with a
country at war with / here, we chew our asteroids whole
& fill our bellies to burst with constellation orts & pleasure
thaw. this fickle-fanged wilderness & how she blooms only
after we’ve left the room—oh, how we fill her cheeks with
conifer gossip & honey-haloed little things / anyway. & it’s
funny how we call this worship, & mean it. because we’ve
heard the plum tree’s poetry, before, & we know how the
story ends, eventually—we know how she’ll turn her verb
laced petals to the sun & name new planets after old loves.
we know how she’ll plant lemon orchards & juniper moons
& kiwi stars & apologies where the earth has the most to
grieve & oh—we know we know we know we know we
know, but today / we’ll take her hands like baskets,
carefully. & we’ll think, quite happily: oh, didn’t we
grow lean in the winter months, love, & sing
of how lovely it is to be full?
Biography
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An avid introvert and full-time carbon-based life-form, Ashley Cline crash landed in south Jersey twenty-eight years ago and still calls that strange land home. Most often found listening to Carly Rae Jepsen, her essays on music and feelings have been published by Sound Bites Media, while her poetry has appeared in 404 Ink, Third Point Press, and Francis House. She graduated from Rowan University in 2013 with a Bachelor’s degree in Journalism, and her best at all-you-can-eat sushi is 5 rolls in 11 minutes. Find her on Twitter: @the_Cline and Instagram: @clineclinecline.
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