Here are two poems I wrote, that I thought I’d share to honor the Blood Moon last night. My brother died the summer there were signs in the sky–Auroras you could draw down close by singing, because they rippled over the midwest an eclipsed moon, and a sun that burned up the fields.
The moon yelped so loud I woke.
“Don’t lose yourself in shadow,”
I cried but the moon was so loud
my dog howled an ancient voice,
the neighbor’s coon bayed,
toms caterwauled, mules brayed,
horses whinneyed and stomped
hearing it whine, answering back,
but they could not keep the shadow
from draping it, cutting its cry.
Looked up at the same stars I’ve looked at
my whole life–a thousand miles away from
the homeplace. I suppose the angles were off
a bit. Used to talk to God under those stars
walk out songs and a few wish lists. Since my
husband, I don’t walk my prayers. Maybe the
connection to God has changed, now through
my husband, our bodies their own praise.
Or maybe all this death shut down the night.
The earth’s shadow swung over the moon,
a man walking across a spotlight.
The shadow glowed red, not black
enough to block out all light, the moon
watery red like blood until a darker shadow
slid across. Finally the first edge
to be dark glowed red then white, the shadow
pulling light behind it. Such graceful
motions of the earth, moon, sun–
ballet without the thud of feet landing.
Started looking at the stars tonight as the moon
pushed clouds apart to a sky so clear you see
stars in moonlight. Along the rift, clouds
feathered a stream, the far bank silver.
Looked like a sky where Jesus could vacuum us up.
And this morning, the moon shown antique white as it sank in the west, like nothing magical, nothing untoward had happened. She smiled.