That Moon

Foot sore, she teeters on heels to the end
of the driveway tonight, ready to roll
the garbage can back into the garage
then stops mid-teeter to glance at the moon.
Clear, star-bright sky peers back at her, its wrapped
around the crescent, cradling it in
a midnight blue blanket against the chill.

In one split second (that lasts for hours)
she is caught in the light of memories  –
images of him somewhere watching
that same moon, wishing on one of those stars.

As quickly as it came, it’s gone; she’s left
behind, to stand and stare up at the moon
alone now and teetering on the edge.