“I was only in awe:” Two Eclipse Poems

(photo credit: PSU Professor Julie Bernier, taken during totality at Coleman State Park)

On April 8, students in Liz Ahl’s Creative Writing class were charged with writing “an eclipse poem.” Here are two of the resulting poems, by Dylan Tulk (“Eclipse”) and River Doumato (“We Were One”).

Eclipse                     

I went into the woods
to ready myself.
The sun feasted up and down the winter-bent hemlocks,
its last supper before eclipsing;
my tiny body on this majestic, yawning planet
was pulled 
again, from the inside, by a dark universe:
synonymous cosmos, flipped innards out—
pulsing,
its wine-dark transplant heart
—the tiny booming 
with me as I

crouched in the black April creek.

Why was I going to say the sun is like butter?
I don’t even like butter—well—
maybe I like butter on toast;
was the dirt roadway walking in the trees
toast?
No, it was cold, so cold, and the convective snow beds
were stamped with turkey feet.

The crystal I creek-washed in my hand
spilt royal purple
on the inside of my
wind-scaled knuckles.
I dipped it boot-deep, where the currents
sped by the long, wet moss.

If I was to witness the eclipse today…

The moon would change places with the sun
swollen red globe scythe-like
the dim making its gibbous-leak.
For four minutes and twenty two seconds 
north of here
I would prop my glasses on my forehead
and listen to the stratiform shadow
with all my features.

If I was to witness 
the eclipse today with you…

The shadow taking the light would take you too—
I might catch my lashes in your freckles but I could not count them
or see
the whirligig of blues around your pupil—
but shadow could.
Shadow knows your skin down 
to its senses, and microscopic pocks

all the ancient human shapes of your face.
If somehow I could not look up again
would I see
in the faux sunset,
Baily’s Beads crowning your shadow-clothed head?

Would the onlookers whisper
the wave is coming
the wave is here?

But then,
today arrived.

And only one catbird sang;
the white shrunk from the birches
like water receding.
The blue, sharp sky
lost its sting
yet refused to be evening—
just pallor-ed into a silver smoked-ash-purple that cast
dark-green shadows
eclipse shadows joined like soft
ripples in low sea, spread
down the drive in handfuls
splattered the windows.

We crept inside.

I hold a round candle,
’til the oily flame lifts,
burnt matches curl up on the candle plate.

I try to list my thanks
but the thoughts turn to fodder on my tongue and
the house is silent.

I make toast.
I drape beeswax-brown honey all over it.
I fill every hole.

Big Moon,
with your metal-black shoulders
and many cratered eyes,
I hope you are not angry.
I was only in awe,
and I won’t tell a soul
what I saw.

by Dylan Tulk

*

We Were One

Look around before looking up.
The scene is cinematic,
A late 80s coming of age movie
with a grainy filter,
Playing out like a memory, 
Though it isn’t truly, not yet.
Everything moves in hushed slow motion.
We’re waiting
And it feels like a miracle. 
For the first time I can remember,
I see people standing on the sidewalk,
In groups or by themselves,
Not walking or rushing towards anything.
Just watching and waiting,
Side by side, looking at the sky.
It comes as slowly as the moon
Is crawling across the sun.
This soft realization that: 
Oh, Here we all are
Waiting on on the same thing,
Watching the same thing,
Not just here, in this town, but across the county?
So many people out there,
Sharing an experience.
A collective memory,
That we may not even realize we share.
How human of us is that?
We never stop moving,
Always charging forward,
A pace uninterrupted
But then,
For maybe 2 hours, 
On a random Monday,
We all pause.
We all pause to watch two big orbs cross paths
Kissing the light away just for a moment
And then continuing on their way.
And beneath it all,
We stare in awe through silly glasses
Until the moment passes and we continue with our days.
We all come together,
Stopping only for a shining moment, 
And then it ends.
We pack up our picnics,
Our lawn chairs, our tote bags, our kids,
And get in our cars,
And our lives go on. 
Sort of like a mirror, isn’t it?
Just for a moment,
We moved together as one,
Crossing paths like the moon and the sun.

by River Doumato