Go out when the Harvest moon is full,
Cut yourself a slender switch by
Pruning the plum runners
-Those suckers of energy-
Remember to ask permission first.
Strip the tender green leaves,
Gently bend into a circle,
Weaving in and out, in and out.
Let it dry in the morning sun for a few weeks,
Until the New Moon is as thin
As a newborn’s fingernail clipping.
Now, begin braiding in your tales.
Dreamcatcher, pentacle, gods eye,
Or simply a spiders web.
Find your tin sewing box that's
Full of needles and embroidery threads.
Take the time to untangle
Silver and gold strings,
Satin ribbons, bits of knobby yarns,
Projects once begun, not necessarily done.
Measure out your silk cords,
Cut them like one of the Fates.
Begin to add the ephemera collected,
The spiritual smegma of the past:
Broken charm bracelets, lone earrings,
A tiny Aladdin's lamp, a tinier key,
Hummingbird skulls and raven feathers,
Your mother's beads, grandmother's pearls,
Antique buttons from your mother-in-law.
The helping hand milagra,
Other tokens of luck or affections past.
Maybe add in a wisdom tooth or
That first baby tooth your child lost,
You know you have it somewhere,
Take the time to find it.
Snow white seashells with holes,
Pale green sea glass jaded by time.
A lachrymal filled to the brim with
The dried salt from an ocean of tears.
Use glue for butterfly wings, other things,
And, of course, add some glitter -
Really, make it yours.
Don’t tie on the wishbone,
Remember, you have a backbone.
Choose instead snake vertebrae,
Relics of coyote found in the desert.
Keys that have been lost in the junk drawer-
They still unlock your imagination.
A crystal to reflect all your facets.
Don’t worry if it’s chipped,
It will cast more rainbows that way.
Honor all the elements.
As you work, remember:
Every bead, every breath,
Every knot is a prayer.
Tie everything three times while chanting:
In the name of the maiden,
The mother and the crone,
I'm here by myself, but never alone.
When it feels almost complete,
Or at least good enough,
Hang it above your desk,
In the window, the tree outside.
And as the wind ruffles the feathers,
Makes the beads clink, bells tinkle,
Take in their essence and
Let them come out as stories...
Sit now, here in this sacred space,
The corner of the kitchen table,
Cats meowing for attention.
Write it all down in your women’s notebook,
Ubiquitous journal, book of shadows,
Every memory, every symbol.
Because, you know, as they say...
Witches
Spell
It
Out.
Blessed be.
KGR 10/17/2018
