Clapboard houses, filled with dark eyes,
watch the full moon rise, as the sun sets,
and barren fields cry out for Spring’s relief.
Bound by their small home place
the women looked from windows,
saw only their same church-going men.
Dour coats, piling cow pats round
the red priapic rhubarb. Nothing grows
around these poisonous plants.
Now in Night’s silver light, yellow
Marsh Marigolds glow white and
fruit trees blossom with snow.
Naked under their cloaks the women
go and plant by moonlight, then they
slip away, to jump the belfires,
heal a burning, seek new seed
among the secret pines, with green
men sweeter than summer apples.
And when harvest comes, they will
pick cabbages, while their brown
eyed husbands, dandle blue eyed sons.
Angelena found the depiction of how remnants of pagan or magical beliefs lingered in the artist’s Christian community fascinating. Moon planting is still done today.
