The moon has sure been burning bright with the commencement of another autumn and the blush of red from wafting woodsmoke in the air. Lois Red Elk has a panoramic perspective on the Big Open.
“I am sending two poems about wi mi ma (the full moon), and life lessons she teaches,” Lois writes from the high plains hard along the Missouri River, just upstream from where the Yellowstone marries it.
We love getting reminders from Lois about how Mother Earth means more than a superficial reference for lovers of nature. “In the Dakota/Lakota culture the moons do not follow today’s 12-month calendar; there are 13 moons and they follow the seasons,” she notes. “The moons are female and correspond and work with the earth who is also female.” She adds, “September brought a moon of change, when leaves turn brown, when the plums are scarlet, and we prepare for the season of cooler weather. This month the full moon came two days after equinox, all relating to change.”
Red Elk’s new poem, Wi mi ma – Full Moon, was written for all women and is a contemplation of women preparing for the changing season by speaking with the moon, she says. “The corresponding piece, Moon of Change, speaks to all other life and how to prepare for the change of seasons.” Mountain Journal wants to congratulate Ms. Red Elk and husband, Dennis, on their 50th wedding anniversary. — MoJo Eds
Poems by Lois Red Elk
Wi Mi Ma – Full Moon
Tonight she is full, abundant, with
all her rotating power of stardust and
hormones, an intention to pull tides,
subdue hunger and attend to emotion.
I don a blanket, to cover and shelter
shoulders, bare arms, full pulsing
chest, my veil of protection from dark
dangerous winds, from cautioning owl
eyes. I stand and look to enter that high
enduring circle for a brief, duration of
sustenance. My opus rounded body, my
knowing elderly mind, and my quieting
spirit are thankful for restored, balanced
energy before the snow lays all silent,
turns soil and life into a chilly barren
blanket. She knows – ending of summer,
loss of light, a slow entering into chilly
moons, silent frogs, resting stems. It is
my hibernation approaching from under
high burning sunlight into the lower cast
light of another season. Let me inhale
the moonlight, feast my eyes and mouth
on her fullness, lift my body to the orb
receiving radiant, circular light off the
sun as he distances himself and honors
this Equinox of waning sacredness. I
will be here, contained, holding…
©Lois Red Elk
Moon of Change
Quietly, the sky shifts from blue
to grey, air from warm to chilled.
This morning as we head south to
our place of work, Canadian geese
race our clouds on their last run
for the midway climate of a lower
state. We wonder. Their travel
a kind of prayer, a trusted gaze at
the angle of the decreasing light,
a quiet belief in mountain draft,
depth of forest shadows, sheen
off rivers and soft flow of fog.
Inside our place of warmth, we
watch the chickadees, that will
stay, fluff feathers, look for deep
nests, watch the deer put on more
fat, grow thicker coats, gophers
carry off feathers, tuffs of hair
and dying grasses for lining
burrows. In unison all prepare
for the shift in energy, temperature,
and unite with the moon of change.
©Lois Red Elk
Moon of Change is excepted from Red Elk’s book “Dragonfly Weather” (Lost Horse Press, 2013)