MESSENGER
Ladies and gentlemen,
I come before you tonight
as messenger of the moon,
our sibling, our sister,
child of the Earth, like us,
but exiled forever
to orbit at a distance.
My task is to announce
estimated times of arrival,
to remind of proper names,
all forgotten except for Harvest,
names bestowed by American Indians,
themselves misnamed since they were
neither Indian nor American,
having been here centuries
before
Americus Vespucci.
I also describe her many phases,
new moon, blue moon,
crescent, quarter, gibbous,
waxing, waning, and just plain full,
plump, golden, radiant,
as she rises in the East
every month, everywhere,
best seen on horizons uncluttered,
such as seashores, deserts, battlefields,
where she says to both sides,
“Oh, my little brothers,
I want you,
on the count of three,
to lay down your guns and
kill nothing but the enmity
that eats away your souls,
filling them with false energy;
lay down your guns and
lower the final curtain
on that ancient act
called “Cain and Abel.”
August 20, 2005
