Issue 2:
Myth
M. Anne Sweet
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Harvest Moon:
The Hot Edge of Night
Turtle paddles the night sky
catching seeds in her mouth.
She carries them moonbelly to Sun.
Sun floods her shell
and seed roots crawl in her turtle soil.
Moon swallows me.
I emerge Corn Husk Woman
to people the east of her ridged back.
Moon bares her turtle brass face,
rivers her east-west song.
In her night room
she lays her seed eggs in sand.
Seeds become trees,
trees flower, flowers plum,
plums purple her west brown shore.
Plum Woman darkens.
Jealous, I crawl out looking for rock.
Sharp prayers split my tongue.
I am Maize, seed oil suckled from soil,
flesh kernels bitten with brass.
Plum Woman dances her dark fingered curse
husking eagle feather smoke.
My gold-eyed father raises his severing blade,
anoints my corn silk hair with plumblood.
Earthbread touches Moon’s beaded nose.
Fire chips fall from her face.
~M. Anne Sweet
This poem was first published in Barefoot Grass Journal.
Anne is widely published, facilitates a popular reading series called Passion for Poetry, and reads her work throughout the Puget Sound area. Email.
© 1997 by M. Anne Sweet. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 23, 2002.