The Harvest

IN the cornfield
At the foot of the mesa they stood in the morning.
Red and yellow
Like the tassels of corn were their war bonnets waving;
Such a harvest
Never grew in the field at the foot of the mesa.

Hark to their war cries;
Their songs of derision:
‘Come down to the harvest!
Come down from the mesa!
The red corn is waving,
Waiting for harvest!
Come dowm to the harvest!
Come down from the mesa!’

In the evening
When the hunters return from the day in the desert,
Who will warn them
Of the ambush that waits them below in the cornfield?
Who will save them
From the harvest of death at the foot of the mesa?

‘Come down from the mesa!
Come down to the harvest!
Where are your maidens
To carry our baskets?
Where are your old men,
Your squaws and your children?
The harvest is waiting;
Come down from the mesa!'

Come, my daughter,
They are calling the women to help in the harvest:
Down the pathway
In the notch of the cliff overhanging the cornfield
All alone
I will go with my basket to help in the reaping.

Go not, my mother!
Can you not hear them?
Their cries of derision;
Their mocking and laughter?

Here on the mesa
We may defy them —
Or, if you will go
I will go with you.

Yes, my daughter,
You shall help in the harvest that waits in the cornfield;
You will hasten
By the trail that descends at the top of the valley.
Warn the hunters
They must hasten: the harvest is ripe for the reapers.

Ah me, my mother!
Does not the pathway
Lead past the cornfield ?
Close to the cornfield?
There is no sagebrush:
Nothing to hide me!
Will they not see me?
Will they not take me?

Go, my daughter!
Let your foot be as light as the snow on the desert.
If they see you
They will think that the ghost of a cloud has gone by them;
If they hear you
They will think that the west wind is stirring the corn leaves.

‘ Here comes a woman
To help in the harvest!
Here comes a basket
To carry the red ears!
Come down from the mesa,
Faded squash blossom!
The red corn is ripening!
Come down from the mesa!’

‘Dogs and rabbits!
Have you come from the desert to beg for your breakfast?
Snakes and lizards!
Are you starving for frogs that you creep to our cornfields?
Rats and gophers!
Are your holes choked with sand that you crawl to our mesa?’

’Is there no warrior
To bring dowm this woman?
Down from the mesa —
This mother of hornets!
Her tongue is like cactus!
Like sand in the eyeball!
Is there no warrior
To bring down this woman?’

‘Carrion eaters!
Pickers-up of the bones in the camp of the hunters!’
(Will they see her?
Like a shadow she flies at the edge of the cornfield!
Will they hear her?
Like the whisper of rain on the sand are her footsteps!)

‘Hear what she calls us!
Snakes, rats, and lizards!
Dogs and coyotes!
Rabbits and gophers!
Capture her! Take her!
Climb up the pathway!
Is there no warrior
To bring down this woman ? ’

In the distance
Where the hand of the sun stretches over the valley,
Come the hunters,
Where the shimmer of heat trembles over the sagebrush.
They are coming
Like the whirlwind that spins in the grey of the desert!

‘ Dogs of Apaches!
Look down below you!
See, they are waiting
To gather the harvest!
Nay, do not stumble!
The pathway is narrow!
This is no trail
For the dogs of the desert! ’

By the pathway
At the foot of the mesa the hunters were waiting.
In the cornfield
Sharp and keen as the frost were the blades of the reapers.
Such a harvest
Never grew in the field at the foot of the mesa.