“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
Poesy plus Polemics 