Cycle 

by Marjorie Moorhead


Everything hinges on the way
aster blossoms pop up purple,
above the dried milkweed in an October field.

A purple to pierce the heart,
or rather, make it jump in its ribbed cage,
lifted to a ribald Morris dance, its pulse

rejoicing at each tint and tinge.
Sumac leaves, flaming red, singe the backdrop sky.
Pointed flags, they warn of deep sleep to come.

Make sure it is sleep, says red, says orange,
and not death. Take care
this raging is a party to wake up from—

bells jing-jangling again, assured we’ve paid attention
to foundations of renewal—
allowing us survival; to start again, sustained.


* * * * *

Marjorie Moorhead writes from the VT/NH border, surrounded by mountains in a river valley, with four season change. Her work addresses environment, survival, noticing the “every day,” and how we treat each other. Marjorie’s poems can be found in many anthologies, websites, and her two chapbooks Survival: Trees, Tides, Song (FLP 2019) and Survival Part 2: Trees, Birds, Ocean, Bees (Duck Lake Books 2020).