Sliver of Moonlight

Once I was traveling alone somewhere. I had a long layover in the Denver airport. As I wandered around I found a little art exhibit they put up temporary. On one of the walls there was a long stream of words, spanning the entire side of the hall. It was filled with various poems. I carefully read them all and wrote down a few that stood out to me. I found this the other day and the poems were now much more significant. 

You squat on the sidewalk under the oak,

small fingers dismembering a rose, face smeared

with cherry juice.

Over our heads a toy jet pulls a white thread 

across a shout of blue sky.

Sun. Cloud. Tree. Flower.

Simple things you can't even name.

Behind my eyes, certain knowledge your life

will be touched by sorrows and losses I can't even name.

Against these debits we enter the credits of unhurried days,

the concentrated pleasures of your first summer-

each day a green bead on a green string.

At night when you lie suspended in the small death that nourishes life,

I lean my cheek against the closed door:

                           I need to hear you breathe.

Once I was a mother to a sliver of moonlight I tucked into a crib and kissed at day's end.

Tonight I am the drowsy child and she, a sprite returning late who leans down out of the thunder moon to place a kiss on my brow. 

And the night flows through her, a stream of secrets. 

My daughter-mother wrapped in a cloak of cool air, pockets lined with outgrown fears,

dreams caught like brambles in her bright hair.

The night becomes her as she becomes the night, bristling with stars.

I remember when I chose these ones. I knew/hoped I would understand them one day. 

And now here I am.

Granted, I am not yet to the second one but I know I will be one day! And maybe my own mother can relate. Either way I like thinking of June as my sliver of moonlight that I tuck into bed.