stray melon moon

one summer we tried to grow planets
in the yard behind the garage.
they all got sick with cow spots.
i would wake up to the sounds
of them moo-ing long into the night.
their calls would shift & begin
to sound like men. i had a trowel 
& a pair of gardening gloves.
i went out to stroke them. tell them
to go to sleep. they never listened
& we stayed up together.
told stories of our old bodies.
there, sleepless, i could feel a life
when i once had feathers & another
where i walked with heavy hooves.
only one planet survived & i was small.
just the size of my fist. a melon moon.
green & full of humming birds.
i told no one about it. i let my family think
all the crops had died. cradled 
the little secret. it pleaded with me.
"let me go sit with the stars." i was selfish.
i didn't want to be alone. so, instead,
i took a cleaver & severed the moon in half.
let the nectar spill. inside there stood
a tiny cow. one with rubies for eyes.
i panicked at such a discovery. no one
else could know. i licked my fingers.
the juice had tasted sweet & floral. 
i buried the cow beneath a crooked field tree
between rows of stitched corn. 
i am still afraid to go out at night. i'm afriad
the cow has grown old & vengeful.
i am afraid i will look up in the sky
& see the melon anyway. i would be
so jealous. i would want to climb up there,
knife in my mouth, searching for 
just one more taste.