Sharing the Moon

Sofia and I
share the moon.
We send it back and forth to each other
from Los Angeles to Washington, DC,
from Pacific Palisades to Capitol Hill,
so we can both view
the moon in all its shapes:
the full moon, with its round baby face,
the three-quarter moon,
like a bowl of breakfast cereal spilling over it's edge,
and the half moon
with its shape of a half eaten pie, both perfectly flat and perfectly round at the same time
and the quarter moon, which seems a cradle without a baby in it
(which is only proper since Sofia is almost five now and sleeps in a big bed).

Sometimes the moon Sofia and I send each other is just a sliver,
a thin line in the sky,
a reminder, more, than a full shape
of our shared and experienced moon.

(Sometimes...it is not here at all!
Teasing us with
tomorrow.)

But whatever our moon, whenever, whatever shape,
it is always with us...in our hearts
in our minds, where,
as Sofia knows,
all imaginings are born,
and in our phone calls: when we say,
"Thank you Grandpa for sending me the moon. It is outside my bedroom window now"; and I say "Send it back when you are finished, so I can see it, too."
"I love you, goodbye," she says. And I say "I love you, goodbye."
And she hangs up,
and the moon becomes my heart, so full,
so round,
so bright,
illuminating my nighttime sky.