My toddler son picked up a toy Star yesterday.

And said it was a Moon.

 

“It’s a Star,” I corrected him calmly and succinctly,

as mothers do with their small children

who are learning to talk.

 

“No, it’s a Moon.” He insisted,

all two years of life, standing tall.

 

“Okay,” I laughed.

“It’s your Moon.”

 

But really,

this small boy

with my own brown eyes

his father’s cherub curls

is my Moon.

 

With 5 points and a center

big enough

to hold me inside.