when they asked where I was during the eclipse
I told them the truth
I was rocking you back to sleep
You’ve been drooling, but your teeth are a secret your body furiously keeps from you
We have good curtains—a gift from a grandmother
at 1:48 p.m. your room permits a stray shadow
it glazes the blue whale of your mural
turns the candlelit pirate ships briefly eldritch
and then I lose track of it
my uncle flew on a private plane
to trace the path of shadows
and omens
to gaze upon the sun transformed to a celestial punctuation mark
“extremely spiritual” he said
“did you see it?” asks a friend
I show them a picture of you smeared with purée—
kabocha and white beans—I nearly lost my finger to the blender
“these kids, istg,” they said. “next time!!!”
in this path of totality, it is not safe to behold myself
to sequence the hours into penumbral and partial and back again
Which of us is the aura depends upon the angle
but when I think of sacred geometry
I see only the shadows of your eyelashes upon your cheeks
(Editors’ Note: “syzygy” is read by Erika Ensign on the Uncanny Magazine Podcast, Episode 59B.)
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© 2024 Roshani Chokshi
