In 1991 my husband and I traveled to the tip of Baja California to see a total eclipse. It was the experience of a lifetime. In honor of the coming eclipse, I share my poem with you.
July 27, 1991
The afternoon is hot and dusty, and the field is full of cow pies. I lie on an old beach towel and try to get in the shade of a small folding umbrella.
In the shade cast by the buses, the drivers chat in Spanish. A girl in a string bikini wanders back and forth through the crowd.
The Germans, all in white, wear hats like Lawrence of Arabia. They gather together at one end of the field, while the man from New York State sets up three telescopes and four cameras.
People shout when it begins, “Yeah, man,” and, “Go, baby, go.” Then, as the light begins to fade…clouds. A chorus of groans. The day gets darker.
Suddenly the clouds open up and there it is. The moon— hanging just out of reach, encircled with flames, big and round and terrible.
The crowd falls silent. A rooster crows. Two fields away, the cows turn and lumber towards the barn.
July 27, 1991
The afternoon is hot and dusty,
and the field is full of cow pies.
I lie on an old beach towel
and try to get in the shade
of a small folding umbrella.
In the shade cast by the buses,
the drivers chat in Spanish.
A girl in a string bikini
wanders back and forth
through the crowd.
The Germans, all in white,
wear hats like Lawrence of Arabia.
They gather together at one end of the field,
while the man from New York State
sets up three telescopes and four cameras.
People shout when it begins,
“Yeah, man,” and, “Go, baby, go.”
Then, as the light begins to fade…clouds.
A chorus of groans.
The day gets darker.
Suddenly the clouds open up
and there it is. The moon—
hanging just out of reach,
encircled with flames,
big and round and terrible.
The crowd falls silent.
A rooster crows.
Two fields away,
the cows turn
and lumber towards the barn.
—-published in Hanging Loose