It says “remember when you lost a tampon inside yourself?” It says “scratch your head.” It says
“open your eyes.” It sends memories I’d forgotten. I’m forced to wonder what forgetting means,
if I can be reminded so easily. My moon puts me back in my body when I have dreams about
levitating. When I was younger I dreamed I could fly so often I began to think it was true. Maybe
it happened. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe it happened once and I remembered it in a dream.
What else has gone wandering deep in this body, what else has slipped from memory? I like to
think it’s only the bad, and when I put my fingers inside myself my moon dips through my
window and says “come with me.”

Saba Keramati is a Chinese-Iranian writer from the San Francisco Bay Area. She holds degrees in English and Creative Writing from University of Michigan and UC Davis, where she was a Dean’s Graduate Fellow for Creative Arts. Nominated for a Pushcart Prize, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Michigan Quarterly Review, Kissing Dynamite, HAD, Rise Up Review, Anomaly, and elsewhere. She loves peach gummy rings. You can follow her on Twitter @sabzi_k.