Mother’s Day for Moonie

Mother’s Day for Moonie

A poem dedicated to our sons Daniel and David and to their mom whom they called Moonie

Today the world sells roses and bright paper,

but our hands are learning a different kind of holding.

Anne is not in the kitchen, not in the park,

yet she is everywhere you say her name.

You called her Moonie,

because she could make the dark feel gentle,

because her love had tides: steady, returning.

Cancer took her breath, not her light.

So when you miss her, look up,

not for answers, just for company.

Let the moon remind you how she mothered:

quietly, completely, even when cancer wore her thin.

And tonight, in the silver between clouds,

tell her this: two sons are still growing in her glow.

If you feel like reading more about Anne’s cancer journey, I’ve chronicled it in prose and poetry here: