Lunar Eclipse, Date Unknown

I used to take photos of everything because I couldn’t remember. I took photos of the first crocus of spring, clasped hands and snow on eyelashes, a dog on the street with sad eyes. One night, I held my phone up to a Blood Moon and took photo after photo, all of them wrong. We’re helpless against the corrosion of a moment. Not because we forget, but because it forgets us. I know back there, in the moment, the moon is still bleeding without a bandage, a lesion left by an absence seizure. Like the nub of my tongue, a story cut off before it could be told, which I pressed, as if a petal, between pages of a notebook, hoping to return before it disintegrated. I couldn’t speak for years through the blood in my throat. Now shadow eats my voice by the second. I once was a child who stuck her tongue out at cameras and laughed. That is a fact I cannot remember for long without whimpering, though I could not tell you why.

Read more from Issue 22.2.