Everybody knew the story of sun vs. moon.
It happened every year: sun’s steady retreat,
in struggle with darkness for primacy,
and sun’s yearly victory.
But still it made them tremble.
The sun, weak and spurning life on Earth,
shining less and less,
making the days shorter and nights longer as if
night would win,
and the sun would not come back.
The people were scared.
Life without sun?
The moon in charge from here on in?
Can the moon grow food?
Surely it moves
seas but the moon cannot be king! can it?
Then it came. The longest night.
“The sun retreats no more!”, the old familiars said.
And fathers pointing said to sons,
“Yes! The sun returns. If only just a little,
the sun grows bigger from this dark night on!”
Those who doubted the sun’s desire now
sighed and wiped their brow.
And little children, never having seen the sun bounce back,
only now waking to life:
“Wow. Sun beats moon. Sun beats moon. Every year sun beats moon.”
And now they gathered in the center square and
sent up their ancient song of obedience, newly minted:
| Sing
> |
Only
the bright sun
can tell me what to do,
and I will follow it into
battle with the moon if it told me so. |
| |
And the wisest
of them, with crumpled bones
and meat that says this may be
their last witness of sun’s triumph,
they sat underneath the staircase of the celebration
and let out their own song— |
| Sing
> |
Only the daughter
of sunlight can supplant the
wishes of the ogre; locked up
on the hill but soon unleashed. |
December 21, 1993
© 1995 Daniel X. O'Neil |
|
