On the drive home from practice tonight,
the heavy, yellow moon floats,
low and full,
Caught, we pull over,
stop in the parking lot of our condo complex;
stumbling over rocks and dips in the green grass,
we walk to the lake and search for the moon
past the water fountain,
over the trees,
around the buildings,
through Laina’s tired grumblings.
Hide and seek.
Catch me if you can.
Go straight, I command,
walking through the field,
My foot slides on a slippery, dark object.
The girls run so fast to the safety of the parking lot
and artificial lights—
Laina on the concrete, laughing and moaning;
Lexi doubled over with laughter;
I stagger in between laughs and squeals,
hunting always for danger,
until I, too, reach safety.
Drawing deep breaths in between lingering giggles,
we race to the car and pile in.
What did I step on?
“Mom, it’s a snake,” Laina declares. Lexi agrees.
It was flat. Slippery and flat. And it moved.
We ponder the dark possibilities.
I want to see…
“I wanna go home,” Laina wails. “I’m exhausted and sore.”
“I’m game if we stop for shakes,” Lexi adds.
The image of the moon beckons
like a journey too long denied.
Determined to capture a photo of the beauty,
we embark on our own adventure:
capturing glimpses of the round moon.
Who else do you know who chases the moon?
My mom would.
I roll down the window;
at another peep of the moon,
I let loose a long howl.
The moon peeks,
creamy and cold;
the moon winks;
brilliant and bright.
We park at a friend’s place near a golf course,
over the alligator infested river
through the light fog, and
the moon sparkles
luminous and low,
so low we reach out and grab hold
of promise and hope and
of all things lovely and new and good.