In Search of the Moon (for my grandson, Otto Zane Carlson, born 3/18/2023)
We waited patiently,
made silent prayers and outrageous offerings
into the mouths of this slice of chaos.
Even now, we urgently want you to breathe in deeply, unafraid
laugh loudly, play endlessly in daisy-filled fields,
explore murky ponds and wonder between the lines of stories--
the way that boys do.
Your parents certainly will teach you what it is to be loved by the way
they look each other in the eye and at you.
Your uncles will hold you in their arms, murmur manly advice
about pocketknives, good farm food, Vermont style, music,
and, of course, will embrace you with all their hearts
whenever they greet you
for the rest of their generous lives.
They won’t be able to help themselves.
I suspect it will be your sister,
the girl you met today only hours after your birth,
who will pledge to carry your collective dreams
to the alter of the night sky
in search of the mysteries of the moon.
This common orb of delight and fiction as it waxes and wanes
reflecting the power of the sun,
will bind you to each other with silvery stitches
no matter where you are.
Heaven knows the promises you made to find your way to us
this time in a body immersed in infinite ancient memories
like a package hidden in the seam of a beggar’s tattered coat.
