Lorne Shirinian: Emmanuel and the Moon
I
My son and I are sitting
on the back porch
when suddenly the universe begins
revealing itself to him.
Papa, who broke the moon?
Nobody, son, I offer.
But look over there,
he insists.
I raise my head and
sure enough
the silly thing
has caught itself in the branches of a tree
and shattered its light.
It's okay, Emmanuel,
I whisper
unimpressed by this catastrophe.
Nevermind, Papa.
It's all right now.
I look up in time
to catch the moon break free
and float lazily upwards.
And here we are,
heads tilted back,
both slightly awed.
Emmanuel pressed against me
and follows the moon awhile
as it saunters along its arc
somewhat embarassed this night.
II
Papa, come quick.
The moon's in my room.
He's at it again.
That's nice, son,
I reply.
Now I hear laughter coming
from his bedroom.
I move quickly down the hall
and listen at his door,
then enter.
And there's the moon smiling
all over my son's face.
Emmanuel is chuckling to himself.
And here I am like an intruder.
But my son saves me by offering
an invitation,
Come in and meet my new friend, Papa.
Copyright Lorne Shirinian. This poem has appeared in Ararat, Summer 1986.
