Hunter's Moon October 27

In the North woods tonight, it is rutting season.

The deer have invested their month of gains

preparing for the lean season; the bucks like their does

with a little extra in the rump these weeks.

They trumpet snorts and calls of lust

Across thickets, scrub, grasslands. Loudly.

 

It is the Hunter’s Moon. Life sustaining fat

and hormones at full peak.

Replication of life for the sake of life;

Expression of love for the sake of love,

The taking of life in love for the sake of forward progress.

And I grew up in the North Woods, of course.

 

The days grow shorter, parallel to my desire to introvert

I prepare to either migrate or hibernate,

worriedly, watching me put on my own winter stores.

I draw a sweater tight, watch the north for arrivals

of migratory winged things.

I slow, want to spend more time abed. We were never

meant to work these southern breakneck paces

365 days a year. A body long in motion wants to rest.

 

Or something.

Maybe the only person I want to see, sometimes,

is you.

 

Something in the way I love you is different.

The moon looks closer now, from where I stand;

there is both more and less urgency to words, thoughts.

I will watch the moonrise tonight. I will measure

the diminishing distance between hearts, minds.

 

Weigh intentions in acorns, sunflower seeds, and squash.

I will run my hands down my own sides,

In the soft bright glow

Thinking of how to best prepare the house special,

and of hunters, moons, and unattainable needs.

Hoping you, like your northern counterparts,

like your rump a little on the soft side.

Tender, and succulent. And loud.

 

 

Author's Note

between 100 hour work weeks and getting my third publication out, plus two professional research papers, been hard to either write or be on here. Hoping this starts getting better next week. This was the first night in weeks I have inspired to put pen to paper.

translated into Spanish here at:

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1658016/

Reviews

[emmajoy]

' They trumpet snorts and calls of lust - Across thickets, scrub, grasslands. Loudly.'

Dear friend, your absence if forgiven because - here and now, you offer the most gloriously descriptive wealth of Moment under that Hunter's Moon! You gradually embellish the scene with controlled wonderful phrasing and then, oh my! finish with the language that comes from more than the core of a woman's Gasp! And hats off for that finish, is masterly, mistressly and more! x

[daninstockholm]

i love it!! I really love the turn in the middle,, such a beautiful sensuous walk through the forest.

[Mary]

Marie, I love this poem! the weaving of the hunter's moon, lust, deer, love making loud and strong, and of course soft and sumptuous rumps is nothing short of brilliant!