Moon Face
Weak white moon
dead children carry on their backs,
keeping its heaviness from pressing down on those of us alive.
We only know its light, friendly-faced shapeshifter
in the sky. Who but the deceased can truly understand
the needs of the heavens,
that obsessive desire to be remembered,
celebrated, and looked up to? Before their time
we cried when they died,
and now their tiny bodies move
slivers of light so that we—those of us who knew them when—
can see during the night and pretend
when we stare at the dark sky we glimpse sight
of their beautiful faces.
dead children carry on their backs,
keeping its heaviness from pressing down on those of us alive.
We only know its light, friendly-faced shapeshifter
in the sky. Who but the deceased can truly understand
the needs of the heavens,
that obsessive desire to be remembered,
celebrated, and looked up to? Before their time
we cried when they died,
and now their tiny bodies move
slivers of light so that we—those of us who knew them when—
can see during the night and pretend
when we stare at the dark sky we glimpse sight
of their beautiful faces.
May 2024
Mary Christine Delea's poetry appears in a full-length collection from Main Street Rag Press, The Skeleton Holding Up the Sky, three chapbooks, and many journals and anthologies. Originally from Long Island, Delea now lives in Oregon where, besides poetry, she makes beaded jewelry, quilts, and volunteers for a number of organizations.
Art: Grieving with Azul, Grieving with Nemophila Menziesii by Kat Cervantes