the tomato harvest ending
he got stabbed in the ribs
stepping in to help a friend
at the dance
the pain in his heart made the wound
meaningless. he feared he would not
see her again
camp broke up
he steeled himself for fate
up river she came to release him
too late
#katyamills
they mixed drinks in the valley
with the plump hanging pears pulled from orchards
hemmed in by vineyards
a sweet exhaustion set in
the sun usurped the sky and lit the
golden fields
#katyamills
the crop harvested and placed in burlap
the children beat their wings against it
the blood pushes and floods the capillary fields
we need never go hungry grandpapa says nor
starve ourselves of all earthly delights
#katyamills
headlong
into your production
up at scratch every morning
intermittent flapping of eyelash
your ineffable ways
like the moon but not a phase
ina daze you amaze
every harvest
#katyamills
she concocted a potion for the full
harvest moon. diatomaceous earth
stirred with baking soda
and water. to convey the spirit 40 million years
back when all cellular life was more
or less collaboratively
symphonic
#katyamills
just some old bones strung together defyin gravity ona harvest moon. put a scare in the livin when the light was cast through to the wall. skeletons. good for a laugh and no trouble at all…until you discover who they once were.
Oh scarecrow
what terrors have you seen
hung up in a corn field
where the murders been
Oh October
harvest and the moon
colors of the
dying
now I light a candle
remembering the lost
so when they come
to call
in the dark hours
in the frost
see
them by
their shadows
playing
in the hall
A stretch of small city road, gone country under a blanket of fallen leaves. A crunchy bicycle ride over said dead leaves. A look all around and see colors. In a cafe, inspired to say, i love you, to yours, as you hold them by woven, heavy cotton and wool, at the arms just above a pale palette of wrist.
katyamills.com.
What was this world where when autumn arrived…
How they harvested, by hand.
How they jammed the jam.
How they hunted the land.
Made wind chimes of bone.
Tapped trees for sugars.
Thanked the almighty.
Venison, quail, turkey and trout.
Facing the winter with faith and tobacco. Exposed to the elements.
Cooking the fats over a crackling fire, on irons they traded for pelts.
Chanting at sunset and dancing til dawn. Large fires contained within circles of rock.
Living a life ruled by water wind fire earth sun ice stars and great sacred spaces cast under moonlight ruled by the rhythms as of yet undisturbed and of wonders unknown.
K IS SILENT 