Thomas Halloran – Ⅰ
Remembered Beneath a Planter’s Moon
As dawn breaks chill on the north end of Honshu,
they load the contraption the farmer then drives all day,
back and forth, except for stops to replace
a stack of the seedling trays that have ratcheted
down his rig, their sprouts in tufts patterning
paddy sheen. The three women chase his clatter
barefoot, to repair tufts the machinery skipped
or mangled by planting shoots from their pails
with heron-quick stoops. Plot after plot
until dusk. When it’s dark, and a brimming
moon like this one lifts, it silvers everything.
Even their dreaming the bristle up from shine.
As dawn breaks chill on the north end of Honshu,
they load the contraption the farmer then drives all day,
back and forth, except for stops to replace
a stack of the seedling trays that have ratcheted
down his rig, their sprouts in tufts patterning
paddy sheen. The three women chase his clatter
barefoot, to repair tufts the machinery skipped
or mangled by planting shoots from their pails
with heron-quick stoops. Plot after plot
until dusk. When it’s dark, and a brimming
moon like this one lifts, it silvers everything.
Even their dreaming the bristle up from shine.