Someone Forgot to Put the Moon Away

A Jarhead, they called my son,
and remade him in their own image.
He was perfect when he left
but returned home with his jar, broken.

I leave my unconscious husband
and check my boy, his breathing
coming in broken whimpers.
Where does he run to at night,
legs thrashing the sheets
to cloth butter?

I call to him from the hallway
until he flings a fist at the air
(once he left a bruise on my chin
and once, kicked a hole in the wall),
rolls over, and is silent.

I sit in the kitchen
where we nicked birthday heights
into the door frame,
at the table
where we colored eggs,
unable to plan tomorrow’s dinner,
or decide if I want coffee, or tea,
or should go back to bed.

Who left the moon out?
Was it him?
His father?
Was it me?

I see the moon.
The moon sees me.
God bless the moon,
though He’s forgotten me.




May Kuroiwa 7/9/10