I had a lovely view of the supermoon last night around 9pm when the sky was clear. Heartened that I might get a really great view during the eclipse in the stupid o’clock hours, I set my alarm. Sadly, the cloud cover rolled in overnight and the eclipsing moon was cloud obscured. Anyway, I was up already and Tibetan Buddhists reckon that prayers or ceremony done during a lunar eclipse is like 30,000 times more powerful than at ordinary times. So I stayed up, prayed some, and then tackled the poetry practice.
This total lunar eclipse has been called Wolf Moon, Ice Moon and Snow Moon. It is perigree, which meant when I did see the great round ball last night with its pinky gold nebula it really did sparkle its supermoon status. A phone conversation last night reminded me of the meaning behind the word mosaic. Which is a lovely word… but it did take me schussing off-piste on the eclipse subject!
The sun or moon obliterates the other
and we shudder that Mom and Dad
could be so horrid to each other. We know
what's happening behind the cloud cover.
We feel the cold, the edgy air.
We breathe in the frost particles
barely daring to exhale. And then
when we do, it is with a prayer
that all this broken and beautiful
world should come together,
each little jagged piece pulled
into a whole. And that Mom and Dad
will never fall out again. Make up! Make love!
Except that they will. They always do.
Then each of us jagged pieces looks above
and we patch the gaps made up from dark.
It matters not if there's any overlap.
We are just doing our best, fumbling,
apologising, trying to make a union
from holey snips, snaps, scraps.
I expect the ancients knew eclipses
make children of us all.
It is wonder and awe. Terror, too.
Sun or moon extinguishing the other,
cognisant perhaps how the children
break a little more each time, attuned
as they are to parental moods,
uneasy about what might just happen.
And it is then that we are all one single brood,
listening to the same old bicker,
tired of the bitter argument's fixtures
that break over and over each and every heart.
Over and over we pick out individual shards,
uniting the many into a single beautiful,
somewhat scarred, humanity,
our broken and beautiful mosaic heart.
Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.