The silver crescent sinks in the west
at the dark margin of shortest day.
Bring the cauldron,
the salts of earth, the spirits of fire, water.
Cast the spark. Now tear the strips,
twist the paper,
wind the wound in knots, tight.
Bind it.
The hushing shadows crowd round.
Speak the story, say the names.
Shout the ink,
and on the breath, let it go.
Burn it in the hexing flames.
Chant and recant.
In the smoke tears sing
and are quiet.
Make a bed of ashes, stir and scry.
Now, unwind.
In the fertile embers, a flicker quickens.
The pale stars listen
to what was silence.
In this mothering dark
an original voice murmurs
and shines.
Solstice Eve

Next post: Midwinter at My Hearth
Previous post: Hallowtide: Listening with an Elemental Attention
Powerful words, Cari! Living in the fire zone, I’m grateful for thoughts
to carry us through some sobering days.
I’m glad you found some solace here, Jane.
Wow! Just wow! So many lines and phrases to savour, go over and over…
Chant…and recant…
Yes
High praise coming from you, Bee. I am honored.
Powerful poem, your words are begging to be spoken out loud.
I do in fact read all my writing, but especially poems, aloud. Thank you for noticing the “sound” of this poem, Christina.
Beautiful…
Cari…. I read and re-read and then read again, this beautiful poem.
Thank you.
Now each day gets a little longer…
thanks for sharing your beautiful words.
I hope you are well, Cari.
Love, Carol
Thank you for all the thoughtful comments. I so appreciate the time you spend with me here at my virtual fireside.