The Ministrations of the Moon: A Poem

The Ministrations of the Moon

And then it rained no more,
Save in the domes beneath the leaves,

And through the tin of downspouts

And from a stranger’s sleeves.  The birds

Had seen it coming — the finch

And morning dove, the ordinary robin—

And the squirrels had gone off

Like slingshot ammunition, hurtling

Between trees. The storm interfered

With the dying of the day. There was dark

Without the benefit of dusk, and then those star

Tattoos and, last, the ministrations

Of the moon. If you were anywhere you were

Watching from your own kitchen window

Through your own green eyes,

For that’s where the likeness is between us:

In the jewel set of our eyes. I learned

Watching from you: Yeast to rise,

Sun to set, rain to rinse,


This is the first of five poems shared specifically with Commonplace Living’s readers written by award winning author Beth Kephart. Four more poem posts to come.

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Beth Kephart

wrote poems before she wrote books. Then she wrote poems while writing books. Now she writes poems because they force her to find and say the one singular thing that she still hopes to find a way to say. Her essays, books, teaching, and thoughts can be found at