Still Life with Lunar Eclipse

When the shadow of the earth fell on the moon it was red like the cherry you left on my neck— which is another way of saying it seemed to turned purple with the night and brought with it tears from blinking against the wind—which is another way of saying it was cold like the tiles we laid down on in the Carl Andre exhibit—which is another way of saying we joined the dark spot of a fluorescent world waiting for the white walls to fall—which is another way of saying we were surprised when security laughed and said yeah, they do that too—which is another way of saying our violation was unoriginal and could be called customary—which is another way of saying the 144 magnesium square tiles had a similar energy to the wrestling mat at your high school—which is another way of saying we are still on our backs looking up and waiting for God or a referee to call the match—which is another way of saying it was a draw and we left the museum in something of a daze—which is another way of saying we felt suspended like astronauts—which is another way of saying our blood wasn’t where it should to be.

 

for Debra Brehmer, fellow trespasser

 

photo credit: Giuseppe Donatiello via Creative Commons

 

About the author

Hannah Yoest is an art director based in Washington D.C. Her poetry is seen in and forthcoming in several literary magazines (Atlanta Review, Barely South, Aperion Review, and others). She is a graduate of the University of Virginia where she studied fine art. She is also an artist in residence at the ceramics studio KUZEH Pottery. You can find her on instagram: https://www.instagram.com/avecruth/ and twitter: https://twitter.com/ruthyoest

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