I wake up in the early hours by the waning volatile energy of a total lunar eclipse
in January, the moon glowing red, closest to earth in orbit.
Unsettled, disoriented, I fall asleep and miss this rare, extraordinary super blood
wolf moon.
Twenty-eight supermoon eclipses this century will loom large in their elliptical
path, some visible from the northern sky, this convergence uncommon.
I wonder if a celestial anomaly occurred the day I was born, like when Mark
Twain entered and exited on Haley’s Comet.
Missing it is like visiting the beach on a warm day, spontaneously entertained by
dolphins frolicking in the ocean, instead, you dilly dally over souvenirs in the gift shop.
Missing it is like putting off the chance to see the Aurora Borealis arcing, curling,
slithering, flickering, instead watching it on video and in pictures.
Missing it is like a pre-dawn rocket launch, the country riveted by countdowns,
blastoffs, pondering the cosmos, instead you sleep.
It’s like that.
The universe invites us to experience the world, we choose to engage or sideline
caught up in daily distractions and then the moments are gone.
Like this spectacular once-in-eighteen-year obscuration, the universe offers
second chances. What will it take to remember next time?
—
Margaret R. Sáraco published two poetry collections, If There Is No Wind and Even the Dog Was Quiet (Human Error Publishing). She was recognized in the Laura Boss and Eyelands book awards contests, won first prize for her poem “Dear Rorschach” in Moving Words, earned Honorable Mentions in the Allen Ginsberg Poetry contests and a Pushcart Prize nomination. Margaret is a member of Writing the Land, a collaboration between poets and protected lands.
