A Mother's Question to the Moon

Sometimes I wonder, in the darkness of the night
As the silence settles around me with its funereal gloom,
As to what made you do as you did.
I get up then from the bed and walk to the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the moon
A reminder of how, when you were young and fretted restlessly in my work worn arms
I would carry you to the ledge, point to the silver globe in the sky and spin fairy stories for you
Your gurgles filling up the room, dispelling with it the remnants of another day lost to mundanities.
But tonight, even the moon is blood red –
Staring back at me challengingly
In the accusatory manner that I know I will have to live with, for the rest of my life.

I am no different from the mothers whose arms are now empty,
You snatched my son away from me as well,
Replacing him with a sullen face I no longer recognized.
Sometimes I wonder if I did actually give birth to a monster
And my memory crawls back to your milky white face from several autumns ago,
Your bare gummed smile thrilled at the recognition of our bond.
How then did the light of love in those eyes dim?
How then did the spark of life in that sprightly smile extinguish?
I ask the moon for answers
But tonight, even the moon is blood red –

The whimpers of the rustling trees reach me now,
They are saying something –
I strain to hear, to discern what had escaped my ears all those years you were growing up
The countless days you would come home sobbing,
Until my patience used up, I snapped at you –
And you were reduced to a blathering mess of nothingness.
Eventually you turned silent, slamming doors in my face,
I ask the moon for answers
But tonight even the moon is blood red –

The shrill shriek of an owl pierces through the pitch darkness,
And perhaps this is what you must have lived through inside the cage of your mind,
As the world ate away at every fibre of your being
And your silent screams were lost in the façade of adolescent angst.
I hear the wind gather speed outside and think – that was you,
Ripping, uprooting, flinging anything that was in your way,
When did you become so angry, I ask the moon,
That only the spilling of blood would quieten the storm within?
But tonight even the moon is blood red –

I get back into bed, seeking refuge in the sheets that are bathed in the moonlight
I have kept my bedroom door bolted for nights on end since you left,
Afraid perhaps that you would come back to claim another victim.
But tonight I am glad I did not,
And I watch as a silhouette forms at the distant end of the hallway.
I stare at it as it skulks silently to my door, the moonlight illuminating its face.
It is you.
You grin at me wordlessly, baring your once gummy smile
Now filled chock a block with murderous molars.
I turn my face to the moon and sigh again to ask one last question,
But tonight even the moon is blood red –
Watching wordlessly as it witnesses a familiar silence,
Which you have left behind in your wake, to be inscribed on pages of notoriety.