It was another Christmas night and dad and I took another drive to see the moon. Her wispy silver, black, and white hair was radiantly wrapped around its cold surface, revealing the ever-sinking craters its face.
Ever needing attention. Ever needing the closeness of a star or some other such relative.
We took it home with us - a huge burden because she basically had no legs.
We fed it food - a failure because she basically had no teeth.
We talked to it - a tough time because her attention
span was shorter than the distance light
travels from one end
of the kitchen
to the
next.
On the return trip it whined, writhed, and waned in the confusing mist
of callous clouds that once gave way to her confident clarity
as she shone over a city's gang of generations.
Winter becomes darker by the day.
Were she more like the sun.
