National Poetry Month--Day 3

Today's poet is V. Penelope Pelizzon:


"Hunter's Moon,"


                       my mother calls the golden fist

clenched above the rye stubs, half-gloved in smoke haze

over our burning fields.


Mine remains the smaller hand. No blood yet,

my bones not begun reaching for a woman's height

while her body, digging


late onions from the frost-line at the garden's

ashen foot, seems strong as if my birth

had never broken her.


Three rabbits, bold after a summer of plenty,

don't hesitate as we unearth the row. Sleek, they take

all hunger makes its own.


Oliver de la Paz