TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown. 

If you’ve been listening to The Slowdown for a while now, or if you follow me on social media, you know I love the sky. I ogle the sky. When I take walks with my kids and pull out my phone to take pictures of the clouds and the light, they don’t even wait for me anymore. They roll their eyes — like “there she goes again!” — and keep walking, so I have to run to catch up. It’s kind of a bit between us now. 

I will say this, though: For as silly as they seem to think I am, always tipping my head way back and marveling at the sky, when I’m not with them they sometimes send me photos of clouds. Enough said.

Sometimes, we’re all caught staring at the sky, to catch a glimpse of meteor showers, or the northern lights, or an eclipse. Suddenly, it’s socially acceptable to stand in your yard and stare up, open-mouthed. I can blend right in! Everyone, too, is taking and sharing the same photos, which ultimately end up on social media.

The last total solar eclipse, my kids and I put on cardboard eclipse glasses and spread a big quilt in our backyard, where we could lay and look up. I could see neighbors in the yards around us doing the same thing. We were all ogling the sky. When totality happened, the sky got darker and the air felt cooler. Our patio lights, which automatically come on at dusk, lit up. It was so eerie. And at the same time, it was so nice to be looking up with everyone else, sharing the same experience.

Today’s poem transported me back to that shared experience.

Solar Eclipse
by Aimee Nezhukamatatil

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?

“Solar Eclipse” by Aimee Nezhukumatathil. Used by permission of the poet.