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A mother, forced to put “unknown “
Though she knows exactly who
But she won’t say.
Her illegitimate child will have an identity,
But if Unknown won’t be there,
That won’t be the baby’s identity.

The moon is glowing full tonight.
For something that’s supposed to be bad
It sure is beautiful.

Should the mother take it as a sign, perhaps?
A sign, a signal, a coincidence?
There’s something beautiful
About looking at the moon,
As lonely as she in her hospital gown,
Rubbing her hand over her now empty bell,
Tired and no longer alone.