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Luna Corvus in Oklahoma: A Sonnet
By Felton Higgens Wentworth
1 August 2008
And did the lines converge? Did the age require the sacrifice?
He pondered the riddle while sipping on shine. Surely, that moon
Overhead meant disaster, an alabaster crow in the Okie sky,
Its intent obvious to all but the Yankee. Among the stars, an orifice,
A lanced boil, a gargoyle menacingly perched high above; or a rune
Meant for the finding centuries hence, by hands unsoiled by mystery.
His eyes searched the corn, the long rows stretching stiffly in shadows.
Here lay the answer if the question were known. His pen dripped its ink,
Black as the crow on the yonder fence. Simply to say what one knows,
He knew, left but little labour of any worth. The scratching of madness
In a field more sane than the age itself. He felt for the bottle. A drink
To confuse the heart more than the head. Truth was always a sadness
Disguised as art. Therefore did the lines converge beneath the gibbous
Moon of Oklahoma; therefore did he kneel willingly beneath it, helpless.
 Felton Higgens Wentworth lives with his wife, Nanih, in Philadelphia, Mississippi. A writer, artist, and poet, he is known for his treatises on Southern post-modernist culture, including The Crow in the Moon: A Study of the Works of Luna Corvus. He recently published his fifth book of poetry, Yankee Killer in the Bronx.
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