The sturgeon moon

 

The sturgeon moon smiles

into my window,

like Grandma’s face,

round,

creased and crinkled,

weaving tales

of the old woman with a loom

who lives in the moon.

 

I’d gaze into the night

with wonder ,

watch the old woman

weaving her veil of silvery silk.

 

Grandma’s creases

turned to deeper crevices;

I told her that

Man had reached the moon;

the grandeur, the glamour, the glory!

 

She frowned,

scolded,

chided me for living in fantasy.

 

With the disdain of youth,

I neglected the old woman;

lost sight of the loom.

 

But she didn’t forget ;

sometimes she teases,

gives a playful glimpse

through her silvery silk veil.

 

The man on the moon

too

walked away;

faded into the distance,

no longer thrilling the soul as before,

but sometimes looks back,

smiles

and waves.

 

Today

I feel blessed

as I bathe

 in the magic of the sturgeon moon.

 

September 2018