Thursday, July 19, 2007


It is not yet twilight.

My toddler finds the slim crescent
barely illuminated in the sky.

Words come with effort,
syllables tow their funny vowels
across his still-new tongue:
“Moon. Out.”

And with that, he leaps skyward
grasps something precious and invisible
in his little fist, lands flat-footed.

His fingers peel back and he presents me
his open palm. “Moon,” he tells me.

But before I can respond, he is snatching
the air above him again, cups his two hands
against his chest.

Beaming, he holds out his hands.
“Stars,” he says. And suddenly,

I have everything I could ever want.


Anonymous said...

I like the new look, Kitty. I hope you keep blogging!

Anonymous said...

THIS sort of tear-inducing, dead-on accurate moment is why YOU are the poet. Jude

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