Mothering Moon

Returned, the full moon, 

lit from without,

like Mother’s shadowed, sleeping face,

reflecting the hall light

when after a nightmare's cry, 

I opened her midnight door.

Lunar craters, scars,

carved from eons of hurt.

From this distance they  

look like love, 

way out at sea.

Tonight, at the shore,

I recollect your light.

I cast my net

letting darkness

fall through.

All in all,

I remember

the best of you.

Re-member, sew together, remember 

every torn piece. A patchwork 

quilt of  essential hues—

borrowing your good eye 

for color. Your eyes:

the blues, not your fault,

but life’s meteor shower.

Your rose-thorn voice, saying,

"I'm not a Cancer!"

declaring yourself a Moon Child, or

claiming a six-foot aura, surely hot pink.

Your apricot skin, 

a little brown from Mexico

Your aching, purple hunger—

plum out of luck. 

Expert with needle and thread,

Dyed-red, dyed red, (it was cancer)

you died--

before I could say,

I forgive you. 

But I did give you--

My childhood's heart.

Love. 

Respect. 

Attention. You left me 

this coarse sand. I see,

here at the edge of the night sea.

Sleep, Mother Moon Child,

I will keep watch 'til morning.

--Copyright 2017 Claire Germain Nail