Ripening

The earth cracks and we are left
with the same shared moon.
She peers through my lattice window
and hides behind your city’s smoke.

Have you ever caught her
covertly climbing the ladder,
the hoards below are distracted
watching the tangerine sun set.

In Arabic the word for moon is qamar –
قمر, where all her phases align
into gibbous – full – crescent
floating in a celestial pool.

In Urdu kamar means waist.
A full moon unfurls at her کمر,
she wanes and waxes, her hollow
empties out and sinks into her ribs.

When the darkness sets in
grey clouds dress this newborn,
she becomes one with the night
before she comes out again.

We leave this earth behind
and the blood moon rises.
Let us pluck this mandarin
and split her in half.

Esha Volvoikar was and raised in Goa, India. She studied Creative Writing at the University of Warwick. She was shortlisted for The Thawra Poetry Competition 2024. Her poems have been published by Young Poets Network and The Alipore Post.