Harvest

Mary Fields


Harvest

I worship these women of salt.
Backs curved, cloth-tied locks thick.
Hard beauty bent, jackknifing in fields
under a harvest moon fat-perigeed-
full crazy enough to kill them all.

Backs curved, cloth-tied locks thick
They speak harvest songs in tongues.
Stretch moan-hides across a drum voice
under a harvest moon fat-perigeed-
full crazy enough to kill them all.

Hard beauty bent, jackknifing in fields.
Scythe swing! Quails spring into trout-leaps.
Dark muscles swim through yellow waves
under a harvest moon fat-perigeed-
full crazy enough to kill them all.


Indigo Moor

Posted over on Main Street Rag