My mother once asked
how big the moon appeared to me to be.
“The size of a dime,” I said
Her millisecond longer than usual
was difficult, I remember,
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?”
with the millisecond longer than usual pause
to me” (and here her tone swiftly flowed
passed a hint of shame,
to ‘maybe I should do something about that but, really, isn’t it too late for all that?’
of her pause) “like a Ferris wheel…
“…Does it really,”
she sheepishly continued,
“look like a dime
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
One might say
that I was greedy for it.
Greedier than the size of a dime.
Or the eraser end
of a pencil.