Moon

We are driving home,

Passing New York City,

On the right,

Out the car window,

And it is a skyline,

In the sky,

Like a line of teeth,

And my oldest son

Finds it, pointing,

Telling his younger brother,

Saying the Freedom Tower,

How it is rising up,

Into a space I can only remember,

And he is asking me,

Asking me why,

Why they flew the plane into them,

The Twin Towers,

Knocking them down,

And killing all of those people, and

I say I don’t know,

How maybe, maybe

Just to show us they could,

Or how war and belief are

Linked,

A bloody cord,

How war can start over belief,

And my son is quiet, staring

Into the mouth of this night,

The highway,

A throat,

Because it is hard to believe,

Because he cannot believe,

That war happens like that,

Over what men believe and

What they don’t.

And when we get home,

The house is almost still,

Just one light on,

And barely breathing,

The driveway, a black

And collapsed lung, or

How we stand together,

Here, on the front step,

The three of us,

In this night but

Just for a moment,

Before going inside,

And into our lives.

And the moon is

Swollen and alive.

How it hangs above us,

Above the whole world,

I tell my sons.

And I show them how,

How to stretch their hands,

Out, and open, so it looks like

They are holding it, the moon,

Even though you never can.

And we go inside,

Turning more lights on,

A hallway, the kitchen,

Their bedrooms,

These, our small moons,

Or how I want them to know,

To always know,

That the beautiful things

In this world are like this,

Ours but not.

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2 Responses to Moon

  1. Hal Donahue says:

    Outstanding, superb and can’t come up with enough superlatives to say how good this is

  2. mjgranger says:

    Simply beautiful.

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