The Mothers

Some one once said that the women of my house were like the moon: they wax and they wane.
In youth they grow fat and full, prompting comments of excess and ignominy.
In age they shrink to half their already diminutive size, worrying the others with their inexorable decrease.
It's true.
In their youth their expend all their glow to light up the world around them. And in their old age, find within themselves a light that nothing outside could match.
Always, always, they were up in the sky
Looked upon by all that came into a dark world, looking for light.
The women in my family
They are like the moon.
They are there even when you can't see them.
And I carry their light in my bones
As I wax and wane.