Worm Moon

A Poem

Worm Moon

I like the sound of that.

It sounds like a poison,

and a dream,

and a faraway kingdom all at once.

Really it’s only a season,

the softening of frozen ground,

the appearance of earthworm casts,

the return of robins

and other singing things.

The worms are still sleeping

deep under dirt and snow here,

but I saw my first robin in months on this walk,

and they’re singing somewhere.

Somewhere, the worms are squirming out of their frozen beds

to crawl in warm tilled earth again.

Somewhere, things are beginning to thaw again.

Just a season, we say,

as that simple thing changes everything.

—Ellie Maureen

3/7/23