The Ministrations of the Moon
And then it rained no more,
Save in the domes beneath the leaves,
And through the tin of downspouts
And from a stranger’s sleeves. The birds
Had seen it coming — the finch
And morning dove, the ordinary robin—
And the squirrels had gone off
Like slingshot ammunition, hurtling
Between trees. The storm interfered
With the dying of the day. There was dark
Without the benefit of dusk, and then those star
Tattoos and, last, the ministrations
Of the moon. If you were anywhere you were
Watching from your own kitchen window
Through your own green eyes,
For that’s where the likeness is between us:
In the jewel set of our eyes. I learned
Watching from you: Yeast to rise,
Sun to set, rain to rinse,
Forgiveness.
This is the first of five poems shared specifically with Commonplace Living’s readers written by award winning author Beth Kephart. Four more poem posts to come.
Beth Kephart
wrote poems before she wrote books. Then she wrote poems while writing books. Now she writes poems because they force her to find and say the one singular thing that she still hopes to find a way to say. Her essays, books, teaching, and thoughts can be found at bethkephartbooks.com
