Witness, a Lullaby for the Mother

My mom, when I was small, would cover her face,
thumbs on cheeks, then swing little fingers out:
Peek-a-boo, I see you.
                                      I’m sure she did this
though I have no memory or picture to prove it.
I live in my certainties with no evidence,
while, just days ago, astronomers released
our first picture of planetary birth:
yellow blob, orangey circumstellar swirl
like finger paint on a nursery wall,
and—dead center—black dot of polarized light
to block the host star so the baby planet
isn’t lost in the glare.
                                  Though hidden from sight,
we know she’s still there, bright as before,
rocking in her orbit a newborn world.