The Size of the Moon in My Eye

My mother once asked

how big the moon appeared to me to be.

 

“The size of a dime,” I said

waiting patiently

for context.

 

Her millisecond longer than usual

pause

was difficult, I remember,

to decipher.

 

She then said, “I heard today

that however big the moon appears to you to be

is the size of your greed.”

 

“How big,” I asked quickly

while simultaneously wishing I’d said

‘The eraser end of a pencil,’

which sometimes was also true,

 “does it look to you?”

 

Again

with the millisecond longer than usual pause

she replied,

 

“…It looks

to me” (and here her tone swiftly flowed

passed a hint of shame,

to amusement,

to ‘maybe I should do something about that but, really, isn’t it too late for all that?’

thus revealing

    the cause

of her pause) “like a Ferris wheel…

 

“…Does it really,”

she sheepishly continued,

“look like a dime

to you?”

 

I may or may not have kept my alternate response to myself

since I valued my mother’s pleasure in my goodness

and she was always good enough

to lavish it

upon me.

 

One might say

that I was greedy for it.

Greedier than the size of a dime.

Or the eraser end

of a pencil.

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