Manoominikgiizis, Ricing Moon

By Lois Beardslee
Excerpted from Lois Beardslee’s forthcoming book of poetry titled We Live Here. Past excerpts by Beardslee in the Glen Arbor Sun are from Not Far Away, The Real Life Adventures of Ima Pipiig (AltaMira Press), which is due out in September.
Morning. Before the wind was up.
Before the angriest of her relations shook the skies.
She moved in gentleness.
Lit the first candle of the day.
Coaxed the stove into crackles and heat.
Sipped strong, hot teas.
Mashkiiigobug.
Bgoooosinh.
Wapooswawaaaaskwanminan.
Papashkikiu.

She stole time. Before the wind was up.
Before the neediest of her relations shook the household.
She moved in gentleness.
Slid out onto the lake.
Stirred the rails and the sheebsheebsheebducks into consciousness
Stole silent glances from restless life forms.
From grazing ruminants.
Huuungry snakes.
Spiraling preeedators.
Mindful prey.
She made love. Before the wind was up.
Before the most jealous of her lovers shook her presence of mind.
She moved in gentleness.
Reached out for long, supple stalks.
Held the body of that rice to her own.
Felt the give and take of the stems.
The strength of the husks.
The firmness of the berries.
The viscosity of the moisture.
Morning. Before the wind was up.
Before responsibilities and foolishness wooed her away.
She moved in gentleness.
Planning ahead for the next liaison.
Joining together in a marriage of convenience the most mature of those wiiild rice stalks.
Some for the ducks.
For wooorms and snails and buuugs.
For the faaamily.
The rest for the bottom of the lake.