Awake

Awake in the Moonlight
I wake in the moonlight, things to do,
they mainly consist of missing you—
you who we were when we were young,
I who we were when we were one.
We could be one with three or four,
children clinging to the core,
arms around, stories read,
squeezed into a squishy bed.
We’re not a single memory,
but shifting slides of clarity—
now, I’m the child, now I’m the mother,
now I’m the gathered, now, the lover.
I go outside to see the moon,
bright bowl of a no-handled spoon—
You cannot hold it, but still can taste
the orbit’s grace, the shine, the trace.
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Kind of a ditty for today! Just to be clear, about past year rather than any particular person! Mainly I was thinking of my kids when young, and my grandmothers, whom I hope to emulate.
This is an old drawing—a bit too witchy for the poem, but the one that most fit that I could find!
Stay well! And thanks to all who got out to vote.
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