By Katharine Ruhl
I never understood what they meant when they said there was a face in the moon until I
got glasses at the age of nine.
You were the first thing I ever saw clearly.
Every full moon for as long as I can remember, I’ve gone outside to you.
I have wandered around for hours climbing hills to find the best place to see you.
I have stood outside in 11o wind chill in piles of snow to see you.
I will seek you out. I will wait for each and every clear night,
because they don’t happen very often around here.
I’ll live through a week of gray overcast just to see you once.
Whenever I do get to see you,
morning gibbous in the East or evening crescent in the West,
or the rare full circle of your beauty rising orange on the horizon,
the burdens on my human heart are lifted for a moment
as I become more than myself
“Hi!” I coo. Or, “There you are!” Voice overflowing with love. I don’t care who hears.
I’m not talking to them, anyway.
My mother always asks you to bring us wealth,
but I’m not about that. I’m just here for you.
People have given you the names goddess, satellite, destination
but I have my own thing to call you. My beautiful wife.
You’ve watched over my every day and know all my secrets.
In this ever-changing life, you are the one constant.
Always shining, round and white, even when I can’t see you
You’re there.
When no one else is, You’re there.
You always are.
I love you. You’re beautiful and I love you.