Super Blood Moon Eclipse


Neighbors drift by, faces upturned.  The sky

is fallen dark; we curse the clouds and call

for blood, for ruby, crimson, rust — we all

unite; our social networks breathe a sigh


of joint frustration.  But some can see

where we can not; pictures arrive in wine,

maroon, magenta, burgundy, carmine –

and why so many names for blood?  Have we


such a cursed history?  I teach the war,

as told in poet’s songs and writer’s tales;

I can’t escape the broken-hearted wails.

And yet, my child and I have looked for more,


curled in my bed — penumbra, umbra, dark.

She sleeps.  I watch and trust the light returns – oh, hark!