Worm Moon

This grounding card—The Moon, em-

bodied in burial mounds & linen shrouds,

blackout curtains—your lucky number, two, like

twin calves, pregnant mother, a bisected tequila worm

thrown to garden soil or pasture

As above: pages of The Old Farmer’s Almanac

stuffed in the crannies of cold spring wind, of

slats in the leaky tin roof, buckets of melted snow;

So below: the creaking cellar stairs, lightbulb string,

shelves heaving with the weight of wild strawberry jam, 

of pickled beets & carrots, potatoes on the dirt floor,

the larvae beneath, the spider eggs in the crawlspace—

the deck of cards & battery lamp for tornado days

Under still, green sky, the peeking

of crocuses, the croaking of frogs ejaculating tadpole jelly

This pond—the bath & soapwater, the crawfish &

willow trees collecting coyote calls before sleep 

& the yawning of the faithful dog on your porch.

Emily Bulicz-Arnelien