Lunatics

by Lisa Berquist

My sweet Brazilian grandmother came to visit for the summer, carrying her boxy suitcase with a rope handle. She took over the small bedroom upstairs and liked to sit on the porch at night, tracking the movements of the moon and stars. One day at lunch, she fought with my mother - her politeness flipped to rage - and refused to eat her egg salad sandwich, throwing up her hands, ranting in Portuguese and finally retreating to her bedroom. It’s the full moon tonight, my mother said, la luna - it makes her crazy; she can’t see straight. Later that night, we received a call, so we walked down the street and found my grandmother sitting cross-legged on our neighbor’s front lawn, gazing at the full moon, her face flush with contentment. Not surprised by this event, my mother whispered to her, calmly helped her up and together we walked home, the moon’s yellow light spilling over the sidewalk, showing us the way.

6S

Lisa Berquist is a freelance writer based in the Chicago area. Her poetry has been published with Golden Apple Press.