Moon Change

 





Moon Change

Standing halfway up my mother,

neck bent back, I looked hard at the moon,

heard stories about the man who lived in it,

full of cheese and shaped like a banana.

Older, out the back garden,
I saw it through my brother’s telescope,

all white and round and full of dark holes

that he told me were  ‘moon craters’.

Crossed- legged below the kitchen table,

I watched Neil Armstrong land on it,

bobbling with his flag of stars and stripes,

listening to the men from N.A.S.A.

Later I kissed under it, long and deep, 

dark romantic laneways lit by indigo blue,

falling in love and right back out again,

wondering who was looking at who?

When the kids were small, I swore by it,

wishing sleep would replace lonely nights awake,

whilst now, above the mountains it guides me home,

even in the light of day, teetering behind clouds.

Through the window on the upstairs landing,

it feels closer now tonight,

my neck bends back, just like a child,

as I remember piece by piece, the moon change.