Solar Eclipse

by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Solar Eclipse  by Aimee Nezhukumatathil
           Hot Springs National Park

Four-year-olds ask about 250 questions a day
so by the time they are five, they will have asked
about 180,000 questions. Most of us stop asking
anything at all in middle school. Most of us
don’t need to be told not to look at the sun during
an eclipse. But the geese at the lake nip the moss
like it’s green shortbread, and evidence of love
is all around us. In Tagalog, mahal kita means
I love you, and for 3 minutes and 38 seconds, the moon
loved the sun. When we argue about stars and who sees
them, and who or what cannot—we get clouds stretched
over all our eyes. How do we capture the magic
of strangers resting in a park full of blankets and chairs
with the gurgle of warm and bubbly water rippling
all around us for our otherwise quiet soundtrack? How
do we say mahal kita to strangers? How do we stay
curious as we swim in this life, kicky paddle feet hurrying
towards a new thing? Silly goose, just say it: mahal kita!
After it’s over, why do some of us forget to look up
and notice the rise, the sparkle, what still glows in the sky?