Moonlight in 697

Moonlight in 697

Your room isn’t lit, but not dark.
We see you.
The drapes open, moon full, past your bedtime,
Light in pearlescent drapery on every surface.
You had morphine so you sleep,
Finally you sleep; pain eased.

You do not know what we know.
We stand, clinging to one another, this tide of tidings
Too much to stand alone,
A tsunami of news that drowns us both.
You would not know even if we told you.
Six is too young to understand cancer.
You are spared the fear, at least,
Although not the pain.

I take a picture.
One of many, many, many for days to come.
Soft iridescent glow, no flash.
I cannot risk you waking.
I must capture what I can while I can.

Luna's light is kind.
Purple spots do not show,
Nor bruised circles under sooty lashes,
Little crescents against your opaline cheek.
Nor does the hurt, the grief,
Knowing we cannot fight this for you.
It is black and white, silver and gray; this picture
your black hair, mother of pearl skin,
white bleached sheets, ebony eyelashes,
Your survival, yes or no.