Matthew Murrey

 

Moon Dirt

There was this little tiny sea of greenness on lunar greyness that was just astounding.
—Dr Robert Ferl, The Guardian, May 12, 2022

In that sterile dirt
each seed sprouted

in a lab on this earth
of floods, fires, and droughts.

So what if moon dirt
allowed seeds to sprout?

When I was boy, men
slow-motioned across the moon.

That was so many disasters
ago. Today I was on my knees

poking chard and bean seeds
into my little patch of earth.

Maybe the airless moon
harbors hopes I have

never imagined. Slim
crescent of a chance.

The scientists were thrilled
that every single seed

of thale cress sprouted
in each little vial

of that rare dirt. A seed
sprouting. A future world

where people grow
what is needed up there

where there’s no atmosphere,
and where—day or night—

one side always faces
the place they come from.

 

Matthew Murrey’s poems have appeared widely, recently in The Inflectionist Review, Topical Poetry, and Autofocus. He’s an NEA Fellowship recipient, and his collection, Bulletproof, was published in 2019 by Jacar Press. He’s now a retired public-school librarian and lives in Urbana, Illinois with his partner; they have two grown sons.