“Through work the quietly puncture begins” — the Worm Moon
We are headed toward the spring equinox. The word equinox always conjures for me the word equanimity. We are headed toward equanimity in regard to the dark and the light — an expression of yearning. Here in the Midwest, as the snow continues to fall (forming small mountains in front yards and parking lots), I have to listen closely to the bird song that hints at spring. I have to close my eyes against the persistent white mass of snow and listen.
One of the names for this past week’s full moon is the Sore Eyes Moon, named by the Ojibwe people about the experience of squinting at the glare of sunlight off melting snow. Another is the Worm Moon, named according to the Farmer’s Almanac not for earthworms, but for beetle larvae that emerge from tree bark at this time of year.
This reminds me of a tree I used to visit on winter walks several years ago next to the Minnehaha Creek. It had bark beetle etchings which have always fascinated me as somehow beautiful (despite its indication often of the destruction of the tree). There was something about these etchings that carried meaning. If I listened closely, with equanimity, it was like language.
The poet Jody Gladding seems to agree, and goes so far with these etchings as to translate them. Her book Translations from Bark Beetle features rubbings of the original text of the bark beetle and her translations or poems next to them. The collection — with its translations of bird calls and writing on egg shells and feathers — evokes not anthropomorphism, but instead a deep listening to other beings:
through work the quietly
puncture begins in a dark
if not there’s no
telling
(rue mores of light and lying)
some have remained here burrowed
In this spirit of small emergences, we at WBC continue to dream of future projects and tell our stories through the lens of relationship — looking outward and looking inward in equal measure. We welcome a long-awaited emergence — Edition One has printed A Body Made of Eyes and it will be on its way to readers weather permitting! Stephanie writes thoughtfully about food and what nourishes her and the healing gesture of writing to her younger self, reminding her to exhale. Emily writes a tribute to bell hooks and her redemptive views on loving. Ada, Stephanie, and Chris all attended the Annual Conference for Writers to be in writing community and Ada shared her work via a reading. Emily tuned in virtually, especially inspired by the panel of Milkweed Indigenous authors Debra Magpie Earling, No’u Revilla, and Sasha LaPointe. When asked what storytelling meant to her, Revilla responded, “It’s like being a stone in a river. It’s about listening.”
