Lana Hechtman Ayers

MFA, Poet
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Late Blooms Runner Up: Susan Hannus
 
One February Night
 
I held my baby granddaughter up
to the window, she touched the glass
as I spoke to her about the moon outside,
slowly disappearing behind the earth's
shadow, an eerie shade of red.
"Look, it's an eclipse," I whispered into her ear.
She touched the glass again,
thrilled by its coldness.