Oh, round crusty moon
You remind me of the oyster
dappled one we found
in that drawer
that held such magic
Sisters sifting through
hundreds of colored buttons
Two or four eyes or golden looped
Some wrapped in leather
The sound
that sounded like
slippery freedom
Fingers foraging,
picking and coveting
So many tokens of
stories past and new tales spun
Looking for the most special
among them
Sitting on bended knees
Like goddesses peering down
into the world
Clicking, clinking, clapping,
the sound
That muffled grandma’s calling
Oh, round distant moon
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