To the Moon and Back

Dear Mom,

I write you from the moon.

There is no coffee here.

The coffee I began to drink

To be more like you,

But continue to drink

To taste the calm

Of the morning.

There are no heaters here.

You were right, I do wish

I put my sweats on

Because Mom, my legs

Are cold.

There is no church here.

Our Sundays were filled

With Gin Rummy and song lyrics

Instead of mass,

But through butterfly kisses and “what do you says?”

You instilled the religion of kindness.

There are no bugs here.

But if there were,

I am sure they would be of the bed variety,

And I am sure they would bite me.

For here, there is no one

To tell me

Not to let them.

There are no fairies

Floating here.

Our wishes forever

Kept secret.

There are no leprechauns to escape

Our cardboard and duct tape traps,

No tunnels to steal

Our breaths,

No wood to knock on

To defend us from an imminent jinx,

No pennies to rattle

In our left shoe.

I went to the moon,

But I will come back.

Because Mom,

There is no you here.