I remember you
moonfaced
miraculous
pulling my life’s tides
We went to see the super moon
to watch it swing over the ocean
to be women – four of us. You at eight months
qualified
in the mystical incantation
decreed by Sus
who understood these things deeply
earth mother that she was.
I remember
the weight of you, in the blue backpack
but Sus must have carried you, too
for I remember seeing
your eyes wide, reaching your small hand
to touch the old growth trees
on the way to the beach
We moved as one in those days
You called me “me” and you “you.”
I can still feel in my hand
how it felt to your hand
the spongy/prickly, gray-green, furry/lacy
intricate web of moss and bark
your eyes registering ancient connection.
“Super moon tomorrow,” the news said.
“The last one was eighteen years ago.”
I remember.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 18, 2011