In Eclipse

by Donna Pucciani
 
Just when I was tired
of all that Midwest sky,
all that useless blue
filling and emptying the day,
the moon appeared,
 
a "blue moon" until she became
a red and swollen orb, cradled
by a crescent silver carapace
that slowly shed itself around
her crimson mystery, a globe
both seen and unseen.
——--
The neighbors have camped out
in their driveway, their children
swarming on skateboards
with cell phones in hand.
Laughter spills into the night
making ready for theatre.
So the summer ends.
——--
My cousins from Italy left
tonight for Milan. Will they see
the same moon hovering
just outside the giant wingspan,
tucked among the engines?
Will they vibrate to its crimson
song? They themselves are now
in eclipse, invisible yet glowing
in there-ness, hanging in the cosmos
like lost constellations.
——--
This blue moon eclipse
will not happen again until 2033.
I'll be dead, or wishing I were,
and you will be ninety-five, not knowing
me or the moon or the neighbors
or the cousins that live far away,
hidden under the same lunar red.