Harvest Gems

And it is a new pulsing holiness we
knitted
mending our wombs together
before the witnessing weather.

The clap of thunder merged
with our peolple's claps
an angry god is crying heavy hailstones
while our goddess thrives in the winds.

Our soft kiss glitters the wet air.

We won't be mothers
we won't be our children's ghosts.

Lonely brides are we
like late birds on a tree.

Our offspring is the autumnal spell
the eternal orange revenant
that no life brings but the
harvest gems.

Among red leaves and chestnuts,
sticks and pumpkins
we build our warm nest.