My first move: 
Stop buying those how-to guides, 
texts that slap together rhymes 
that invoke random deities 
and calls them spells. Learn to listen
to my intuition. Speak 
my own poetry. 

My second move: 
Turn off, uninstall, and delete 
social media apps where I’ve dithered
over posed photo shoots of #moonblessed crystals deer 
skulls designer peasant dresses.
Magic can’t be bought, 
only given.

My third move: 
Pick up my tools: 
seeds, shovel, soil. 
Don’t you see the magic they do?
Work them into the earth.
Work my hands into the earth. 
Get dirty every time. 

My fourth move: 
Wield my paper and pen. 
Work my hands across the page
in thick ink furrows.  
My fingers will be stained in the shape
of ancient runes carved in stone. They speak
wisdom. And those stains on my tongue?
They are the Mouth of the Wolf rising, the moon waxing, 
Freya’s distaff shivering at dawn. 

[Narya Deckard is an Appalachian poet, teacher, and backyard farmer who holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Lenoir-Rhyne University. She lives in Valdese, North Carolina with her husband, dog, cats, and chickens. She feels most at home with grass beneath her feet, a tree above her head, and a book in her hands. You can find her poems curated in journals such as Tiny Seed Journal, The Dead Mule School¸ and Kakalak Anthology.]