Gripping the sidesof the plastic boat,tight in her father’s armsfor now, a little one looks upand prays that the crescent moonshould toss down an anchor,signalling land.
The same crescent moonis spied by my daughterthrough her bedroom window,high above the backyard maple,upon which to makea young girl’s fervent wishbefore I tuck her in.
Goodnight, moon.
#16 of 30 Poems in November to benefit Center for New Americans.