Gray Matter - Flash Version

My moon hangs in the center of her own perpetual twilight. 

The physiotherapist pulls her tiny hand towards a plastic flower.

“We have to show her it’s okay.”  

Moon’s world is contrast and shadow. Blurred pattern, dimmed colour. Faded sunlight. Her face crumples. Sobs erupt. She pulls her hand to her chest. 

She clings to me. My arms, her gravity.

“You’ll have to force her to explore her world.”

Twinkle, Twinkle Little star in the rocking chair. Tears she will never see. Baby fingers graze my lips. She smiles.  

Together we ebb and flow.