by Melisande Luna

Created on: May 20, 2007

The Reap

On restless nights I've hammered north,
hooked I-5 towards the valley,
came screaming down the Grapevine;
where August's breath blew
warm and pungent,

reeking of earth and onions:
the scent of Lily's last gasp.
I remember the night her cornflower
eyes set with the stars -
as dusty palms crushed her lips.

Naked, she knelt in furrows
amid mute foliage and chittering
witnesses, who scuttled and chewed,
indifferent to a fast meal's fate.

Alabaster skin encrusted with clay,
her iron tincture blossomed in gulleys,
bloodied the vagabond river's loam.

I went to reap memories
of Lily, in the deeply plowed rows,
where breath quit her tiny lungs.
I'd let my footsteps kick up clouds of silt,
puffs as brief as my sister's quick life.

The copper-bite of loss ripened
bitter among the onions,
where I harvested bumper crops.

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