MYSTERIES

Women

Strong as mountains made me,

Carrying bushels of cornUp the steep path

From the truck garden

Near the river,

Sitting on their front porches

Shucking the ears,

Balanced in the cradle

Of their cotton dresses.

Their voices, like birdsong,

Entwining melodies

With the autumn breeze.

 

Sitting beside them,

I touched the corn silk gently,

Wishing my hair

Were that shining golden colo

rLike a vision of forest faeries

Dancing beneath our chinaberry tree.

Holding the corn in my hands,

Feeling it was still alive

Though common sense told me

It couldn’t be,

Plucked from the stalk that way.

Gently, I peeled the outer skins away

Exposing the naked corn.

 

At night when the moon was full

I would lie awake

Floating in its lightAs if balanced on the water

Of a cool mountain stream.

I had no questions formed to ask

But knew there were mysteries

Pulling at me in that cool light.

I knew my grandmother,

My mother too,

Knew the wisdom of the mountains

And the mysteries of the moon,

Though we never spoke of them.

 

Georganne Spruce, a former English teacher and modern dancer, taught for a Fine Arts Project in Mount Airy, NC many years ago and received a Masters of Fine Arts in Dance from UNC-G. After living in Washington, D.C., Denver, New Orleans, and Albuquerque, she has found her cultural and spiritual home here in the mountains of Western North Carolina where she is pursuing a writing career.