“The esbats of the moon are rituals performed at night. They involve gazing at the moon and being totally receptive to its energy.” —Priya Hemenway, Wicca

 Late fall, rich smell, shuffled sound

At the gravelled mouth of the driveway;

Poplar Place’s

root-broken pavement looms

with my mother, looms

with her mother,

tall tweed loom

next to me, both over me,

and Harvest She.

Hangs silent.

Over.

The big chestnut tree.

“Look,”

“Look,”

stagger their voices

“Look”

three words

and it is the chain of women

true law

in that quiet

bestowal, three

long

and tender

as if many women

are speaking

vowels—“Look!—The Moon!"

i held to the raw raw

held to the raw end

raw (warm small fingers)

end of the chain

(five years old) raw

and i knew it was

the lifeline,

i knew

it was the blood

i didn’t know

yet

it was

the first

poem

I

remember

From Spells (first published in Cream City Review)