Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Black PrayersMary Austin
T
Has taken my man from me!
When I gave him my soul to drink
In the moon of Corn-planting
When the leaves of the oak
Are furred like a mouse’s ear,
When the moon curled like a prayer plume
In the green streak over Tuyonyi?
In the midst of my body’s trembling,
How was I to know
That the soul of a woman was no more to him
Than sweet sap dripping
From a bough wind-broken?
I could have kept my soul from him
Even though I kept not my body.
Whatever she takes from him,
It is my soul she is taking.
Waking sharply at night,
I can feel my life pulled from me,
Like water in an unbaked olla.
Then I know he is with her,
She is drinking from his lips
The soul I gave him.
With this raven’s feather,
With owl feathers edged with silence,
That all her days may be night-haunted.
Let blackness come upon her—
The downward road
Toward Sippapu;
Let her walk in the shadow of silence!
Though I gave my body!
Better the sly laugh and the pointed finger
Than this perpetual gnawing of my soul
By a light woman.
They are fed on the hearts of better women,
Who would not take another’s man
Knowing there is no untying
The knot of free-given affection;
Let her feet stumble
Into the Black Lake of Tears!
Let her soul drown,
Let those above not hear her!—
By the black raven’s plume,
By the owl’s feather!