qarrtsiluni

A gracious moon, neatly illuminating whole galaxies,
little suburbs even, spreading before you.

By starlight you can see space mothers tucking
tired space babies into bed, pulling

rain-washed, softly worn clouds
up under alien chins.

If you listen by starlight, stand quiet
in your backyard, you will hear a symphony

played on Saturn’s rings, maybe a cool
salsa beat out upon the core of Venus and Mars.

If you reach between the stars, part them
with your hands like invisible curtains and peer inside,

you will see families, maybe one just like your own,
fluctuating in the motion of everyday life.

Their starlight is your living room lamp,
their backyard is your rooftop, their music

the hum of your one, continuous long breath.
To this space family, your children seem to be tucked

in by a worn blue sky. Your lives are as distant,
as untouchable, as a single branch on a fallen down tree.

by Jill Crammond Wickham

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