Shadow Moon

The earth would throw its reddish shade

Over that Mayan heroine

“Blood Maid”—whom we call “Supermoon”

These days (a new term for Luna

At her perigees)—when streaky

Clouds began to spread dense veils leaving

Unwelcome snaky dark-grey trails.

Then came a call from Pat next door

To say that clouds had now at last

Begun to fray. The Supermoon

Was in the sky again. Its diamond

Shine had now begun to wane as

Pac Man Earth’s dark shadow took the

First bite it would now swallow.

We sat in a deep pool of black

Between the house, garage, and the

Dark green of grass, the gazebo’s

Shapely silhouette—marked by faint

Solar beads of lights—ahead and

On high a mirage—a gaining

Moon its dark parts faint maroon.

It took a while until real light

Had fled leaving behind a shade

Of glowing red. Here was “Blood Moon”

Named so, they say, by our prophets

Predicting the Last Days. We read

The message, agreeing with the

Sky, and hoped that Light would yet

Return, if only by-and-bye.