The Moon Is a Kite

By Andrea Gibson;______________________________From the other end of the phone line my little sister says
“Andrea, poppy flowers are beautiful in the right light.”
I say: Laura, you’re right. And land mines look like toys to children until their limbs explode.
And their families find their bodies in ditches on the side of the road.
Our mother is crying herself to sleep again tonight.Your daughter is in my arms wondering where you are
and maybe this light is right for you
But from here I can’t see the stars
In the morning the sunbeams will look like jail bars
Come back
PleaseI’ll breathe “I love you” into your bloodstream until the needles can’t compare
I’ll teether my veins into thread and stitch them through your torn seams
I’ll scream light into your bruises
Still lives beneath your track marks
You can stand on the cliff of my heart and shout nothing but ugly through me
I promise all I will echo back is Beauty, beauty.
You have always been beauty.Did I ever tell you on the day you were born I stopped believing in Jesus
and started believing in you
And sometimes its the metal in the wind chimes that reminds us how soft the breeze is
So even when you grew like a switchblade
Pupils dilating the apocalypse
More junk in your veins than blood
More rage on your lips than love
I still believed in youI know you blew this world a kiss and no one blew it back
and I wish I had a roadmap back to the time before the first time you mainlined midnight
in search of an escape
I wish I’d had your back that night
I wish I told you life is going to hold you at gunpoint
But time usually comes with a white flag
‘cause right now theres a body bag around the moonAnd every time your daughter cries the constellations look like chalk outlines of crucified angels in the sky
And I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this
I can see the veins in my wrists too clearly
can feel the knife in the drawer
We are more alike than you knowBut your daughter’s heart is beating
I can see her pulse in the soft spot in her head
and in the other room my mother is asleep and dreaming
now of the way we were when we too were just babies like her
and maybe we’ll never be that new againMaybe there will always be days when the sunbeams look like jail bars
Maybe it’ll seem we have more scars than life lines sometimes
But I’ve found its always worth trying to wake away from the land mines
and hope you come back with your skin intact
enough to drink the moonshine.Girl, I know you think this world is too dark to even dream in colour
But I’ve seen flowers bloom at midnight
I’ve seen kites flying in gray skies
and they were real close to looking like the sunrise
and sometimes it takes the most wounded wings
the most broken things to remind us how strong the breeze is
How precious the flight
so I’m still not believing in JesusI’m still believing in you.
I’m still telling your daughter the moon is a kite
attached to a string that’s held by your mother
and I promise she’s coming back soon.


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