by Claire Taylor
On the swings: he wants to go
higher, All the way to the clouds
makes me sing carry moonbeams the
way Nani does, though I don’t
know the words and we’re both left
unsatisfied
I can see the moon from
up here it’s true, heal ways finds
the moon, steps out the door
tiny finger thrust to the sky
Moon! — like it’s the
first time every time so
satisfied
There’s nowhere to go but this yard
plastic swing set, budding azalea, garden stones
covered in pink and blue sidewalk chalk
pop up tent in his bedroom where
we hide from monsters
We’re staying
inside
A dream or the sound of him stirring, I’m up
middle of the night soft
hum of refrigerator, eerie
call of alone bird the room glows
Moon! — through the window
the sky a siren
song
I pull the blanket over the
sweet hills of his shoulders
worn giraffe tucked under his arm
leave the door open a crack the
way he likes it
rise with the dawn
tomorrow we start over
again
Claire Taylor writes primarily about motherhood and mental health. Her work has appeared or is upcoming in Yellow Arrow Journal, The Loch Raven Review, Capsule Stories, American Writer’s Review, Canary Literary Journal, and more. She is the creator of Little Thoughts, a monthly newsletter of original stories and poetry for children. She lives in Baltimore, Maryland, and can be found online at clairemtaylor.com. On Instagram @todayweread. On Twitter @ClaireM_Taylor.
