Eclipse, Hadyn Archambeault

John Kane. Self-Portrait. 1929

How long have you held this frozen posture, my waning subject?

You strain your sag and hold your heavy lungs in hopes of returning to your days as a gandy dancer,

But all you’ve done is cracked the mirror that makes more visible your every wrinkle, crinkle, and crease,

And you’ve wasted your wasting breath.

You remember the days of your father digging graves,

And through the cracks on your mirror, you see the grave that’s been dug just for you.

“It is said that he dug a grave on Friday and filled it on Monday.”

You will die on a Friday.

Why must you deny my warm embrace, my fearful friend?

See, the halo I’ve carefully placed upon your fragile figure!

Let it thaw you, and let me heal your aching alveoli with ambrosia and nectar.

And on that Monday, I ask that you let me paint over you, as you’ve painted over others,

My beautiful eclipse.