Harvest Moon Poem by Katrina Harms

Harvest Moon



She lies
on a wet bed
Rifts on her belly-
red rivers carving
canyons
So deep and so dark

Higher on the hill
A moon, blood-red
with a fever—
Corn shivers,
Bow their heads

to her
They have heard
Of their slaughter

New growth
but no change.
Only the awkward silence
of my cerebral garden
being weeded

with two little hands-
my
misery
scissors

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