Banished to the sky as the moon

I read a poem I wrote while contemplating what I want to express in this piece. Corn, corn husk, aluminum-casted corn, iron-casted bread, bronze two headed sheep, rock salt, sea salt, Himalayan salt, flowers from my local Kroger, dirt from Southwest Detroit, dead Monstera plant I let die during spring break, plants from my local CVS that I have personal beef with and my face casted in plaster. I felt the need to thank my ancestors, who are always by my side, holding my hand. One day we will meet again—love never leaves you. It’s always dancing around you, warming you up even when you feel like you’ll be cold forever. It’s gentle and all-encompassing, soft to touch, and always reminding you of its existence through humans, through nature.

Inspired by Coyolxauhqui’s constant transformation as the moon, I recall the story of Coatlicue, who became pregnant after a crown of feathers fell into her lap. Her daughter, Coyolxauhqui, filled with dishonor, plans to kill her. Huitzilopochtli, the sun, springs fully armored from the womb and defends his mother, killing his sister by cutting off her head and flinging it into the sky, where it becomes the moon.
2024