Danielle Page

POETRY

September in Manchester

Pennsylvania waves at me from my window.
Over the ploughed field rests a state
I knew a decade ago.

I see how good the land is here,
Believe in the toil it takes
To create a harvest from mud.

I believe in the solitary act
Of waiting and receiving
The bounty set apart for me.

Outside, cows imprint their hooves
On solid ground, calves drink
From the udder when called.

I am sustained by the small creek
That flows steadily, the spotted
Jewelweed inching along the banks.

I am rooted in their presence,
On the precipice of turned ground.

Swallow the Sky

And taste the pale moon’s presence as you
reach into sheaves with withered hands.
Before the green and gold fades,
Observe the workers’ bent backs.

And as starlight twists through the stream,
Drink and recall the dry bed once in its place.
Face the harvest. Marvel at its yellowed hues.
Sink into the heap piled high,
Roll in its earthy and sweet perfume.
As the wagon bumps along smoothed paths
Feast on the light of the moon in early dawn,
Bent down to hear, knowing and known.

Danielle Page is a truth-teller and editor of the Clayjar Review. When she’s not reading, she’s scribbling in her journal or taking a hike. Her work has appeared in The Whale Road Review, Calla Press, As Surely As the Sun, The Amethyst Review, and Ekstasis Magazine.

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Image: Enclosed Field with Ploughman by Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890).