Picture courtesy of Rowan Pendragon
A poem to celebrate the Spring Equinox
Ostara
Here, within the chorion, Life twitches
as the rushlight flimmers
beneath Winter’s melting egg.
Small fingers, stained with alluvium
unwrap like fiddleheads.
Eyelids begin to flutter, brushed lightly
by saffron tinted shadows.
Outside, She sits and rubs a cluster
of mallow green stones
shining them with spittle and oil.
When the Spring rains fall
she will fill her lungs with petrichor,
kneel in rich crumbles of humus
and, under a bone-white moon,
slide her arms deeply
into squelches of moistened soil
drawing out the new life
slicked and dripping with amnion.
This is the moment when we feel
the earth dancing inside our selves;
when the untouchable stars flicker
and whisper about infinitude.
