Moonshine

It's almost full now, every day another inch swelled, it shines a little brighter. This apartment is dark, the trail of the sun somehow evades the kitchen window, it's a shame, really, but still. At night there is always that beam. On the walk home, steady, reliable.

I sat at the table, staring up at its moody shadows, its crisp contours. Reflection of sunlight. Generations of questioning faces looking to yours for answers. How silent your response.

A million seeds of hatred grow in me, the sun's warm rays do nothing to appease them, only gloss them over, attempt distraction, that's fine. The moon does not look away, does not pretend not to see nor encourages the wild tangles of angry fruit. It stays steady, swells by the inch, watches coolly.

Holds my hand.