By The Sea, Beneath The Yellow And Sagging Moon
Every night, while tucking me into bed, my father told me that he would meet me in my dreams by the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon. When I was really little, I imagined the moon as a pee-filled diaper and I prayed that my father would meet me in my dreams in time to save me from an unpleasant shower. Later on, when I was in school, the moon seemed more like a sugary lemon drop, glowing from the warmth of nearby shooting stars. These days, I imagine the moon as being sad and beautiful, sagging under the weight of unclaimed mustard seeds, the day’s unfullfilled wishes and tomorrow’s irrational hopes. I want to feel the heat of the moon again.