
Elegy for the Harvest
I stand in the field of cut corn in a long red dress
On the map rows and rows of nothing and a bright push pin
Here
trying to enact what they mean when they say Let’s cross over
If I write about the butterfly you’ll think I want to be one But who are you?
In Chagall’s Wheatfield on a Summer’s Afternoon
it seems there are two choices
You in a row boat Or you with a scythe in tall wheat
But I guess you could be sun or grain
I suppose you could also be water
Let’s stand
at the edge of the ocean and look out at how it began Before
there were rows and rows of nothing
there were rows and rows of nothing
And now so many flames
atop the cakes some birthday but mostly powder
What do you wish?
I will whisper Baby and you will know
it means I want you with me
now as this whole thing goes up fast Like
it was never really here to begin with
and we mourn what?
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You read here about why I’m posting drafts of poems online again, and you can find the growing collection of them here.