Mabel Never Tells White Men She Loves the Moon


Mark Turcotte

Imagine Mabel stands bent beneath the stars, her strong heart
echoing up the hills, her twisted cane
making circles in the air
to bless the moon.

Imagine all the fences, the highways, the bridges spanning
the empty Sea of Tranquility.

Imagine the mountains carved with the faces of our enemies.

Imagine Jane Fonda doing the tomahawk - chop from behind
her shades beneath a bubble
over a vast field of green.

Imagine the bulldozers smoking, digging up all those bones,
disturbing all those dreams.

Imagine the neon, the Golden Arches, the families four - wheeling
to Wal-mart in their weightless Jeep Grand Cherokees..

Imagine the Man in the Moon marching down a new Trail of Broken Treaties.

Imagine Mabel stumbles on the path to the outhouse, under a moon
cluttered and dim, her twisted cane
tapping stones, earth,
roots of trees.

From Exploding Chippewas, Northwestern University Press
© 2001 Mark Turcotte
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