Eclipse by Bartholomew Barker
CW: Death
When darkness struck, I shivered
even though I knew exactly
when it would happen and why,
visiting my daughter's grave
for the first time.
The eclipse wasn't my fault
unlike her death and the divorce.
I had no memory of the accident.
I trusted the investigators
but my guilt was intellectual
unlike that visceral fear
in the pit of my stomach
as the umbra crossed the Earth.
I wouldn't run into her mother
that afternoon at the cemetery
resting in the path of totality.
There were others around
but just for the astronomy.
I was the one looking down.
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit. www.bartbarkerpoet.com twitter:@bartbarkerpoet