We’ll See — Seven, The Eclipse

Something powerful enough to fill the world with heat and light goes dark every once and awhile. When it does, we’re told not to look too close for fear of being blinded.
We’ll see, I think.
We’ll see.
There’s something remarkable about being part of a planetary system which is constantly moving. It’s hard to hold on sometimes. I wrote this poem almost twenty years ago now. I went digging for it tonight because my heart needed to hear it again. Here it is for you.
When the moon rolls in front of the sun
We hold what we know
and what we’ll see
like naked hands in the dark

I saw my house vanish
silently from seven years old
bloody knees from my two-wheeler
falling
my yellow lunch box slamming on the tile tub
shards of depression glass mixed with
mum’s dying and overgrown garden
the knowing looks of my dad and I
44 years between us
wrapping mum’s fancy, ruby red glasses
that meant cherry wine, summer and pigtails
into newspaper and boxes
of 5806 Sophia Street
I had memorized my address
phone number
last name
how many fingers of my years old
knew never, ever to stop and talk to a stranger
‘cause she said so
and mum knew
mum

in grade two a quiet came
mum said the moon was getting really envious of the sun
and had to stop it from shining
I couldn’t watch
so I counted 482 cracks instead
kept my head down to the ground
and walked to school
I didn’t want my eyes to burn out
like mum said they would
but I listened
and I felt it.
Twenty one years later
and just seven months ago
I met a man at a bus stop
spoke to a stranger with the sun in his heart
and for six weeks, things were simple
the moon wept
and the sun
feeling no threat,
gave

a couple of weeks ago
he wrote to me from across the planet
all about chasing that same jealous moon
through two countries in his ka(r),
brimming with laughter and hopeless bags of fruit
sitting with friends and a small gathering
of french farmers
on a hill that overlooks green upon green
another after another
and with his head up,
eyes open and breath full
he saw it
felt it and understood
the hush
of the sun and the moon touching briefly
rolling into each other
if only for a moment

I’ve a very old photograph
of a smiling and comfortable woman
standing in front of a speckled house
on Sophia St.
It’s creased and worn
from the many folds and tucks
made into an 8 yr old’s back pocket
she sits beside my dressing table
beneath a yellowed and withering letter from the same girl
to her dad
they’re there on purpose
to remind me
that how
like the moon’s constant pursuit of the sun
some things pass quickly
and can easily be missed.
TinaO is a Core Story Specialist and the story behind TinaOLife — Stories from the Core. Want some more? Check her out here.
