She had told me once without,
Glancing in the mirror,
“One day I will tell my daughter that she is beautiful.”
She told me she’d call her Luna,
After her passion for the eternal allure of the moon.
She said that she’d make sure her daughter
Knew that she is just as special and unique
As the moon that whispers goodnight to her
Each time she closes her eyes.
She said she’d make her daughter realize
That she’s more beautiful than that thing in the sky
That the moon is jealous.
She told me all of this, with such sureness,
Her voice stern and still,
And she’s not yet seen her daughter in her life.
She doesn’t understand,
I see her the way she see’s her Luna.