when i was little
and my mother called me her sunshine
i understood that sunshine
is a warm solidity in your tummy
and sunshine is reserved for
the people that hold each other's hands
outside white houses with
smiling suns drawn in the upper right hand corner
of large sheets of thin paper

and when i was seventeen
i heard my friend compare her love to the night sky
equally as endless and spectacular
and i knew that the moon and the stars
were for the people
you fell asleep with
to wake up with in warm sun soaked rooms
and wrote poems for, scribbled on napkins in cafes

but when i would gaze up with the others
i didn’t understand how scattered points of light in endless darkness could be comforting

now i understand
you are my moon
because i can see you shine from anywhere
and you are my stars
because i can always see your blurred edges through drowsy eyes
and feel safe and warm and content
i wrote you this poem on an old note
while sitting on the steps of a white house
with you in my upper right hand corner