(Lake McGregor, New Zealand)
On this day before Easter,
the two of us have found a lake
to attach ourselves to on our last trip
together. What is it about the edge
of water that draws one to its side?
I watch a swan on the lake with her young
while you forage for wood.
That night, with only the campfire to
embrace me, I wait until you go
inside our cave on wheels and then
I belly down to the ground,
brace myself against a rock,
steadying my well-traveled Pentax
and point my 35mm eye at the sky.
While the wobbly image
of the full moon floats in the middle
of the lake, mocking me,
I make a pitiful attempt to bring this Easter
eve moon home as a souvenir.
As the sun takes the moon’s place
on Easter morning, I wonder
what I’m doing in New Zealand
instead of being home in Seattle
with my son. As I hand you
a chocolate egg, I feel the small
satisfaction of a reflected event.
It isn’t the moon, but it’s something.