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Eclipsed.

My first teaching job was part time.
Some days my father would visit
because he worked down the street
and we would have lunch
together.
On his birthday I took him a cupcake
I think
and a plant for his office.
Something green for his green and metal office
Institutional.
On the day of the solar eclipse we watched
through a box with a hole in it.
Outside my apartment.
The moon passed in front of the sun.
Midday darkness
dictated by the sky.
A solemn shift
and a purple hippie bus parked across the street.
The hippies were in town for the eclipse.
Or something else entirely.
Probably something else.
When I was very young
I remember dividing the bedroom my sister and I shared down the middle.
Her side.
My side.
I dare you.
It never lasted.
You could always find us
playing school, and Barbies, and American Bandstand on the very next day.
I packed all my socks once.
When I was mad
Ready to run away from home
after that great story I read in a book about living in a museum
and money gathered in fountains.
Instead I learned the book is always better.
And you can’t really divide your room
or live in a museum.
These days
I want to throw a cannonball at the sun
and fashion my own eclipse.
Shield our eyes and reset.
Have lunch with my father.
I know that men will always try to divide our rooms.
But
If we are lucky
the sky will always dictate.
A solemn shift.