on the occasion of her 100th birthday by: john sullivan

A bright milk glass
moon hangs above--
a disk that sat on a sideboard
in her warm home.
Luminous, opaque,
a dimpled white
she would fill and
leave candy out.
It is hidden away,
eclipsed now, safe
'til the time comes to unwrap
that lunic dish.
Shrouded like the moon,
like my Busia--
until time ends and Earth passes
and she shines again.