Spider Moon

 

by Angelina Frey

​

We are the medicine for one another.

Touch me, and you'll know

 

your place in time.

Hurry, for I'll not hold this thread

 

much longer. Look back, and you'll see

where you've been. What wisdoms

 

do the grandmothers give? Feel rock and clay,

bone death, and stay there if you like

 

or look to the grandfathers;

they'll let you glimpse the future,

 

but all you'll likely see

is a blur of becoming, for

 

you're not there yet.

So let's come back to now.

 

Breathe, laugh, love. Touch tall grasses;

let them tickle the palms of your hands,

 

leave seeds in your clothes. Run now,

wind in your hair until you come across

 

a web glistening under the moon,

attached to bluestem and Indian grass

 

and holding a gold and black garden spider

who raises her front legs in greeting.

 

Say hello, and there you are.