My adult womanly existence is flush with the full moon,
a Super Moon when closest to my earthly focus, my love,
a Micro Moon when distant, tiny and dull in the dark.

Wolves keened my loneliness in the cold Wolf Moon,
the Snow Moon marked my February birth.

A Blood Moon’s rarity radiated red, brought forth little deaths of youth,
shed uterine linings prepared my womb for new life.

Blue Moon, you marked my sons’ entrances into the world,
and the Pink Moon of soft Spring gave both life and death to my twin girls.

Strawberry Moon, I thought I would forever be fertile, vibrant,
my adult womanly existence flush with the full moon.

Blood on the moon radiated red, brought forth the death of first love,
but the Buck Moon gifted a richer love in the full flush of summer,
the Corn Moon’s crop harvest gave me his heart.

Frost Moon, I am waning, my woman’s blood drying.
Long Nights Moon, one night soon, I will lay me down.