The Moon Responds to Shakespeare by Lola R. R. Cherries


The Moon Responds to Shakespeare   

after A Brief History of Seven Killings by Marlon James

Ha! Who does he even think he is, anyway, that Hamlet or Romeo or whomstever? Honestly, any of those moody boys who spend their lives moping and then collecting girls to project their shit onto and call anything but a child of god. But that is the part of myself I try to put away after morning coffee. Pour me another.


Why does that surprise you? Which part is the surprise? That the moon is a misandrist, or that she loves coffee just as much as any of you? Go back to your lore and show me where it suggests anything otherwise.


The point is: why should I be envious of the sun, and why should she try to kill me? Ugh, that face again. You thought your sweet Apollo was a boy? Well, you all the ones steady gendering every thing and every body, but still wanna say standing outside with your face turned up into a sunbeam don’t feel like getting loved on by your momma? I weep for your childhood. 


What I’ve been trying to say is: Ask yourself why that boy is so insistent on pitting us against each other. How would he like for the sun to kill me? How would that work? What does he think would happen to him if she did? Did you even think? I thought so. Tuh. 


Look at me. What about this glory says sick and pale with grief to you? I am powerful. I hold everything together. I am time. I am movement. I am peace. I am the huntress. I am your secret longing. Look at the way you fear me. 


Do you really think Lucina, light of my life, blames me and my sisters for that philandering piece of shit she stays runnin’ after? I know good and goddamn well she ought to have more sense than to try to keep any man, let alone Jupiter. Bless her heart. But what can you really expect from someone with a whole holiday for fucking a flower and getting knocked up with War? I mean, the dizzy bitch turned her own priestess into a cow. My poor baby sister.


Now, mind you, wives should never be wasted on men, but especially not the sniveling ones who can’t even blazon their beloveds without mentioning somebody else. Juliet was blessed. 

Lola R. R. Cherries is an aspiring conjure woman in Northeast Ohio. She’s only just begun sending out work for publication.