Genesee Moons

I.    Starving Moon

Proud winter sweeps up the house

in his white ellipse. Snowdrifts

can drown this child, starve

the moon to a thin Communion wafer

she eyes hungry behind windows

barred by cold daggers.

Silent as the glacier time,

only the stone's gravel voice,

beneath the ice ship's weight,

speaks, carves the land she calls home.

II.   Maple Moon

Father winter, mother spring, war

for precious maple's heart blood.

Gentle days melt, brittle nights

freeze Iroquois sweet water.

Distilled amber, born of both seasons,

poured on fresh snow

leaves a cool promise on her tongue,

but winter is not over.

III.   Frog Moon

Silent as a Seneca tracking white–tail

she lies on her stomach, arm outstretched,

hand open innocent, a still trap

for the slick cold–blooded creature

who calls its mate with thunder, eats its own.

Born one thing it becomes another,

can choose lungs no more

than the huntress child chooses breasts.

IV.   Planting Moon

Plow splits the earth, opens soil womb

for the Three Sister's seeds—

squash’s hard teardrop, gold nugget corn,

bean’s baby heart—are blessed and covered.

When the moon's cup spills the stream,

she walks hopeful night furrows.

The earth is cold as secrets

crack in the dark below.

V.   Strawberry Moon

Summer fruit, it wears its seeds outside,

bruises easily, stains her lips

in a pantomime of woman lure,

sweet but unknowing.

No teacher tells the mysteries to keep

her safe from body's ripe colors,

need to be picked from the others.

Red is nature's vanity,

to call the birds from the sky.

VI.   Green Corn Moon

Tassels golden–dusted, leaves sharp as arrows

tear her cheeks as she runs to hide

from slavers who will sell her in the city

make her forget longhouse nights,

grinding corn, tending hearth fires.

Soon she will eat only fresh corn.

greased with rich butter,

learn new ways of dying.

VII.   Moon of Falling Leaves

Maple leaves, dry and curled,

eddy in a ghost dance,

speak to her with voices long gone—

father's chant, mother's croon,

lover's ragged breath whisper

a name she once owned but has forgotten.

Bonfires carry their spirits to the sky

leave behind a nutbrown scent she tries to hold

VIII.   Moon of Long Nights

This new land is always green

even as sleet pelts her roof

noisy as a gourd rattle.

One night she dreams snow

falls far away, still and clean.

On a pure white morning

the track of deer signs the way.

Her legs are heavy as the winter moon

comes up a shining circle doorway.

Once more she smells the woodsmoke

hears the clan songs on the Genesee.