
Poetry
The Hunger Moon
A February full moon poem
A slip of song, a breath of ice, an echo of an owl’s discourse on the full moon rising.
A silvered pine, spattered stardust against an inky sky — I wonder who the owl calls for on this Snow Moon Night.
Beneath the wind-dried skin of winter, something skitters, thinks it’s safe.
But those talons, sharp, they prick the flesh, a delicate kill of a momentary nature.
The owl, she eats tonight, under the watchful eye of the Hunger Moon.
One less soul goes hungry.
And I am left to ponder the vacuous nature of spirit, bone, and time.
I’ve been on a bit of a moon quest of late. She’s seemed so luminous this month and has quite ensnared me in her energy. What I did not realize until last night was that February is when she is the very closest to Earth during the entire year.
Last month was the “Wolf Moon.” But this month’s full moon is known in Native American traditions as the “Hunger Moon,” because it was, traditionally, the time when food was the scarcest.
Other names for February’s full moon are the “Ice Moon,” the “Snow Moon,” and the “Cleansing Moon.”
Taking a few moments to notice her allows us to contemplate the pause in nature — the time when deep darkness and cold begin to shift and give way to the barest breath of spring. There is a stirring beneath the surface of the earth. You can almost hear the sap beginning to flow and the impending burst of leaf. It is a season to surrender to the Great Mother and to realize how ephemeral, really, are the very notions of spirit, bone and the passage of time itself.






