Goodnight Moon

Filed Under (Institutions, Love, Poetry) by Estee on 26-10-2012

Goodnight Moon
in the rocking chair,
your body cradled in the
safe bed of my arms.
Now your cherub cheeks
fall.
Soon a deepening voice
will sweep like a brushstroke
and we’ll forget

pointing tiny fingers finding little mice
tracing the arc of the cow
to our song;
a coterie

How can time move forward
in your face,
vibrate in your body
yet remain still in your room?

A page turns slowly,
please slowly.
Your head now fits
In the crook of my arm
before you sleep.

In the schoolyard
we play in chilly air.
Blustering wind tears leaves
like perforated certainty.

The helium voices chatter
on the opposite side of the park.
You silently climb the slide.

They found the same mice,
traced the same cow,
recited the same rhymes and
dreamt of red balloons.

Still now…
In a special school.
For safety?
Whose safety?
Maybe we are safe
I can’t say for certain.
I need more time.

Bulldozers nearby
tear down and
build up concrete progress.

What are we making?

Remember
the other little children behind locked doors
who never came out,
who never saw parents,
who were never cradled to goodnight,
who slept under the same moon.
Was it really so long ago?
This echoes.

Huddled are we –
rocking,
enveloped by quiet night
in our own peace.
Slowly, please slowly.
I will love you forever.
Goodnight.

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About Me


ESTÉE KLAR

I’m a PhD candidate at York University, Critical Disability Studies, with a multi-disciplinary background in the arts as a curator and writer. I am the Founder of The Autism Acceptance Project (www.taaproject.com), and an enamoured mother of my only son who lives with the autism label. I like to write about our journey, critical issues regarding autism in the area of human rights, law, and social justice, as well as reflexive practices in (auto)ethnographic writing about autism.