Sturgeon Moon

Sixteen miles to Choctaw
The noose around my neck
Another night comes undone
With ways I can’t forget

Fifteen miles to Choctaw
And the valley opens wide
The soot-black night envelops
The day I did not die

Fourteen miles to Choctaw
When arrives the sturgeon moon
A candle in the darkness
My love, she’s gone too soon

Thirteen miles to Choctaw
With my luck that didn’t keep
The shamans spoke of sorrow
But my soul was never free

Twelve more miles to Choctaw
My penance is almost paid
I hope they take me back
To where my darling lays

Eleven miles to Choctaw
Can have no drink nor fire
My weary feet keep trudging
Great lengths ‘til I retire

Ten miles to Choctaw
Haze obscures the violet hills
My broken heart’s unsteady
My languished body chills

Nine miles to Choctaw
I count the stars that shine
Maybe heaven sits behind them
Holding hostage what is mine

Eight or so miles to Choctaw
Where the rivers intersect
Deep waters call enticingly
Wherever the moon reflects

Seven, I’m still counting
As midnight takes a turn
Choctaw still waits for me
From whence the hellfires burn

Six miles still to Choctaw
When thunder assaults the night
The sky falls down around me
Blacking the coming light

Five miles left ‘til Choctaw
And I’d walk them all again
I would trade all my eternities
To write a different end

Four miles to Choctaw
The crossroad lies ahead
The earth, it smells like bitterness
A new sun burns upon my neck

Three miles left this morning
Choctaw holds the key
Whether right or whether wrong
Whatever is will be

Two miles until Choctaw
Choked by rope and rust
Leave me here beside the ditch
And let my bones return to dust

Just one cold mile to Choctaw
My fight is all but gone
My spirit weary of this world
My lover calls me home

Beneath the ridge is Choctaw
Beneath, below, and free
The sturgeon moon in Choctaw
Guards me while I sleep

By: Sutton Light

Sutton Light is a culmination of past and present—a photographer, a bard, a curator of life’s inconsequential moments. Residing in the Ozark wilderness, Sutton spends her time (both personally and professionally) composing stories, chronicling history, and reveling in nature.