The Moon

I’m concerned for the well being of my untouched homework and that almost empty bag of cookies; my entire diet, as of late. Cookies, and a few cups of coffee, I really don’t know what I’m going to do when those cookies run out. I suppose I’ll contact a certain mother who sent them to me in the first place and ask for a follow up batch… and when she asks where the other ones went off to so quickly after they were sent, I shall reply, “I was hungry.” Though she probably won’t understand they’re all I eat, she may conclude from my simple words, that I am in an extreme state of poverty. The comfort of knowing she baked them herself, and knowing her, out of the lovely organic stuff. She’ll sing some songs, full of motherly bliss, just being around her I feel in a constant hug. Love is no longer that intolerable variable, trust isn’t a question, she doesn’t even have to say the slightest word and I know, I know, she’s there. She always ties on her old white apron, washed a millions times, and lathers her hands and lower arms, rinsing them in the delicate warm water, under the sun light seemingly always to belong in that little area of the kitchen.
I’ve always strictly adhered to her style of decorating, the way she cracks eggs, and makes coffee, draws and paints, her compassion. She was the first one to put makeup on me, the first one to curl my hair and tell me how smart and how beautiful I am. She taught me how to read. No matter how much I don’t, can’t believe her, she’s always right. In the late hours of night, when I have no one to kiss me and say goodnight, I call her, and she’s there. “Can you see the moon, Eileen?”
“No mother it’s on the other side of the building.”
“Well, I’m looking at it, and if you could see it, we would be looking at the same moon.” She laughs, whimsical and ethereal, I wonder if she really misses me, the way I miss her. We fight a lot, and I fuck up, so much. Some days I miss her so much, I can’t even call her, to bare the sound of her voice, her happiness and my sadness.
“I miss you, my love…. Just always know, I’m with you, at your side.” These 1000 miles are so illusory; they may as well be that separation of Buddhism and Christianity.
I go outside on these cold fall nights. Dark yellow and red leaves the ever present gasp and exhale of the trees, falling down. Sometimes the pack of 10 raccoons will chase me up the path. The little grey kitty, gallops to meet me as I walk the wooden stairs, the moon is there illuminating. She’ll understand when I tell her I’m a miserable wreck and want to run away.