Hunger Moon--(almost) poetry

Green blur explodes beneath a Hunger Moon? Not yet. Hope awhile still.

Dream of tomorrow's harvest quiets no rumbling,

even real haze nourishes none, not yet. We await a New Moon.

One Moon for Harvest, longtime coming,

another Moon for Hunters (who came back empty),

but now a Moon not even for planting--only for a yearning

emptiness inside until the insides are consumed.

Hunger Moon shines coldest, brightest, just before

a Sap Moon brings warmth and life and a full belly.

Old People tell us so, the ones whose insides weren't eaten

in a Hunger Moon of their youth. No one speaks

for the young who never grew wise, who never learned

to Harvest the crops planted after Hunger to survive.

To our Old People, this Hunger Moon shall pass,

like every Moon passed before. They sing songs to those Moons.

Believe this is Hunger Moon like all before it;

unless it isn't, and this Moon eats us all.