“eclipse” by Adam Cayton-Holland
set my alarm for 4 a.m.
to see the lunar eclipse
on November 8, 2022
my son’s fourth birthday
I vacillated at first
thumb twitching indecisively over phone
did I need the sleep more?
I thought about the type of person I wanted to be
when I conceived of myself
someone who wakes up for eclipses?
or someone who sleeps?
like when that girl invited me to Taos
all those years ago, out of the blue
and I waivered, until it dawned on me
when you’re an old man
will you remember not going?
I tiptoed down the hallway
wondering if I should wake him
whisper happy birthday, the sky got you a present
but it was overcast, so I investigated first
alone, backyard gray and quiet
pregnant with the promise of winter
through my binoculars
no moon no stars no eclipse
just clouds
until an inky black disk with coral embers
peaked through
seemingly lit from within
familiar but strange
like those establishing shots in all the Star Wars movies
of some planet with two moons
then it was over, the sky once more a canvas of clouds
so I shuffled back to bed
remembering how the paper said
it won’t happen again until 2025
when the earth passes perfectly between the sun and the moon
when my son is 7, and I’m 45
will I wake him for that one
how will he react
awestruck?
annoyed?
or will he be indifferent?
to this dance of our dying planet
and this man
his father