We sang bye and bye the moon is half a lemon pie,
cocooned together in the sleeping bag past bedtime.
One silly and talking a blue streak, one reflecting on what it would mean
to see this all again in so many years, while earth’s shadow and sun’s muted light
made moon show all of her faces, like time edging forward, a month of phases in a single night.
I, too, imagined seeing another supermoon eclipse in many years, myself bent to my mother’s age,
my children grown and gone from me. I felt the coolness of the night
and drew them closer, aware of how hard it is to hold fast
as time eclipses onward, as the moon changes
from full to gibbous, from half to crescent, from silver to rust.
Bethany Fitzpatrick has a M.A. in English from the University of Arkansas. She’s a full-time mom, and a part-time teacher and writer, who loves reading, dancing, singing off key, and perusing endless shelves of books. She has published poetry in Babblefruit and the Apeiron Review, as well as personal essays online with Mothers Always Write, Sammiches and Psych Meds, and Mamalode. She has also self-published Becoming: A Journey to Motherhood, a chapbook of poems through Lulu press.