HARVESTING FIELDS OF REMEMBRANCE AND ALKALOIDS
How your voice fades through
fields of poppy as you work,
thighs surrounded by floral blood.
It is all violent, splatter from earthly
exit wounds. Our mother told us
that poppies are red fish who have
learned to swim on land, in large,
roundabout paths. She says that
they prey on the soil, digging new
roots to lay eggs. We dance in large
circles, creating a home for our
footprints, and providing rows of
toiled earth for the fish-nests. When
you begin to bleed from between your
legs, you say you are feeding the soil
already turned crimson and burst-
vein. Our mother’s best beading protects
our waists that hold the seeds we gather,
while we scuttle like silverfish among
fields of a corrupted sunset—we beg
our mother not to send us home until
the good spirits are everywhere and ready.
But, as soon as hear her whistle from the
porch, our heels turn up dirt as we rush
towards her arms, offering our bounty.
Moira J., or Gaagé Dat’éhe (Quiet Crow), is an Indigenous writer who explores being agender, queer, and biracial. Their writing examines relationships between sexuality, spirituality, trauma, displacement, and family in poetry, origin stories, and creative nonfiction. Moira J.’s work has been published in Girls Get Busy Zine, Naugatuck River Review, Bayou Magazine, and more. They have upcoming publications with Rising Phoenix River, Sea Foam Magazine, The Account, and The 3288 Review. You can keep updated on Moira J. by going to https://moiraj.wixsite.com/home, or find them on Twitter @moira__j.