Poetry by Matt Zambito
The Moon grounds me so much
that the pressure leaves me
as if a pile of stable dust, while
the gravity of our planet is so weak
that I might float off and away
if I’m not careful. If I am careful,
I try to stare through the sand of
my glasses to see the particles
parting as if they weren’t as
they are but how they should be
if not for heat melting and space-
time’s curve pulling. To be safe
(or at least to be on its side), I’ve
got weighted boots on to tromp
over gray dirt hidden on Earth’s
surface, the force of being lessoned,
its meaning more than any orbit.
Matt Zambito is the author of The Fantastic Congress of Oddities, and two chapbooks, Guy Talk and Checks & Balances. New poems appear in Freshwater Literary Journal, Braided Way, and Pioneertown. Originally from Niagara Falls, he now writes from Wilson, New York, where he resides with his rescue dog, Sadie.
