Hunters Moon Segaki

How many of my mothers

fed fire's mouth?

pollen, corn, copal

whose fingers were burned

leaning into the source

whose tears sizzled on the stones?

whose cumbersome heart

sprouted wings as fine as those of the bee

and where is the unmored heart

that grudgingly threw down a tap root?

blood, bone, sinew & gristle

I am the daughter of a thousand loves

the bell is rung mournfully

the gong with ferocity

while the full moon

pregnant, empty

drapes herself across my shoulders

and smiles at my offering