Moon of the Harvest

“Harvest Moon” by Heather Hubb

it stared at me

even as I fitfully slept

I could feel its displeasure

unsettle my skin

its impudent expression

impossibly bright

fairly taunting the sky

like some sun who’s refused

to give yield to the night

sternly glaring accusing

but truth is the truth

I have nothing for harvest

no tribute of offering

unto the autumnal equinox

too many summers

have passed with these

acres of mine lying empty

my fields fallen into their fallow

these fingerbones no longer

willing or able of labor

to sow this good ground

with the sustenant crops

of a meaningful life

time has turned itself

inward and down

to a maddening

slow-moving sequence

of days unproductive

of nights unrefreshing

a coldening season

one very long season

of stillness