the tuesday moon

It is Tuesday and I am driving the city street. It is night and there are all sorts of lights to call my attention. The row of headlights; car after car coming towards me in the westbound lane. The tail lights directly in front of me brighten when the driver stops at the sign for a second, then dim when she accelerates. There is the turn signal of the car behind me, indicating left as I make my stop at the sign, then go. Just ahead to the right the chain store signs gleam on two corners, calling patrons. The amber parking lot lights illuminate the small urban spaces. Ahead and to the left is the old liquor store sign in red neon letters, the windows alit with reminders that inside there is food, drink, cigarettes.

I approach the traffic signal and move to the left lane. The light is red so I give my eyes a rest from the manmade lights to look up at the sky, craning to see a star. And there she is, the moon I hadn’t yet noticed; full or almost full, I don’t know. What strikes me is the mystery of her. She appears to wear a veil tonight because of a layer of cloud, too thin to utterly obscure her beauty.

This is the light I saw on your birthday and I instantly thought of you, for you are like the Tuesday moon to me, my daughter. Your light undimmed even when clouds cover; your light diffused, reaching further because of the air’s mist. I have never seen such color and I feel I shall never see it in any other than you. When small lights like those on the street corner burn out, yours will remain.