My Son and the Moon

My son learned about the moon
in the pages of a book
before ever seeing it
in the northern summer sky
 
For months
he pointed upwards, saying
mooo but there was nothing
but the sun
on its way to and from the Tropic
of Cancer, outshining the stars
well past bedtime
till nearly ten at night
 
And when September came
and the evening dark,
he finally saw its glowing, milky
face on the horizon
and started running towards it
and I didn’t have the words to say,
you can’t touch the moon
just like
you can’t touch mama’s chest
where her port sits
under the skin, just like
she can’t lift you
some days, just like
she can’t get out of bed
after chemotherapy
some days, some days
we’d all rather be
running towards
the moon.