Karen Schulte |
CATCHING THE MOON |
“Over there,” she says pointing—
the waxing moon in early dusk
settles itself on high branches
just waiting for my daughter.
“A ladder, daddy, to reach the moon,”
she reasons, it’s all you need
to snatch the dangling disc,
bring it to her 4 year old level.
He lifts her on his shoulders,
taller now, she stretches
her arms upward, palms open,
beseeching it to come to her.
We laugh, pretend the moon
is hers even as it moves away,
lumbers over our backyard,
slides between the trees.
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