My friend writes with the news that the moon
Was full on the night last week when his daughter
Entered the world, a fact he might read as significant
And auspicious, he guesses, if he believed in astrology
And the universe were smaller, the Milky Way
Only a hundred stars across, not a hundred billion,
Each with a claim of influence on a birth chart.
In a smaller universe, I’ll assure him,
He’d still feel inadequate to the thought
That he and Louise are responsible for the new arrival
In the borrowed cradle at the foot of their bed.
Yes, they were present at her conception,
But neither at that moment conceived of her,
And neither now has a strategy
For making her future bountiful.
In a smaller universe they would still
Give her the name of Esther in the hope
She’d prove in time to possess a few
Of dear Aunt Esther’s many virtues,
As opposed to favoring poor Aunt Minerva.
A smaller universe wouldn’t make it easier
For them to find the stories she needs
For inspiration, enough to outweigh
The sad examples she might be exposed to
In the yards of neighbors
Or on the buses to school or in the halls.
In my letter I’ll mention my hope she becomes
The kind of girl who walks home on Fridays
From telescope night at the science museum
Entranced by the thought that the universe is too vast
To be weighed and measured, that only imagination
Can hope to embrace it, if not contain it.
And if sometimes it seems too empty for comfort,
So may her route at night from the museum.
Still, she’ll have to walk it. If she’s lonely,
Maybe she’ll find some company in the moon
As it rises slowly above the roofs,
Alone on its sail across the sky.