Full Moon

Shining pale, silver ball
chants to you, ancient songs
curses the sea
and the land
the woman who lays alone in bed-
prays by her window
in her native tongue,
to the moon who mocks her
yet she prays-
for the family who lives in the village
whose corn cannot be harvested
whose children will go to bed hungry
and lay awake through the night
and stare from their window, with a growl in their belly
and offer their own little prayer
for the little girl who lives-
way, away across the sea
who they don’t know-have never met
yet watched her on the screen
with tubes and lines stuck in and on
the little girl with the sad smile
is dying from what-
no one knows,
what a cruel act of fate
and as that little girl takes breath
through machines that help her so,
she looks out upon that ball of light
and wishes for everyone to know-
the Moon dear friends
can make or not
good things
bad things
all things, the Moon
is such-
you either want or wait
to fill, or leave
but know
as sure as chants and prayers and songs
are offered right way round the world-
the Moon is a sure certainty
shining pale-silver
round and full
it’s presence you will know.