Academic journal article The Midwest Quarterly

Theater of the Field

Academic journal article The Midwest Quarterly

Theater of the Field

Article excerpt

   This is the mouth of the earth from which come cows,    horses, flowers, rabbits, dragonflies, and swallows.    And there's a black snake with green feathers     singing about light. The field seen from above    shows a pond like an eye whose green lashes are    reeds.--Now clouds and the river carrying     a skin of light. Plato might say the form    of the field is the ideal form of the earth. Crested    wheat, timothy, and brome. Heat lightning     illumines, lifts a grassy plain. Someone runs    across the field and disappears. You open    the doorway of flowers and call a name.     Fireweed, goldenrod, and sumac bloom and dry.    Then one morning the field seems changed    as if women walked there during the night,     dropping scarlet dresses everywhere. Across    from the field's a forest, and inside the forest an    invisible axe marks time. Grasshoppers, crickets, and bees     continue to stir the thickening light. The hay has been    baled and lies everywhere--golden cubes--parts    of a disassembled city. It's getting cold and you     must hurry. Now words spoken describing friends    become visible breath beneath the gaining stars, and the field,    white as a page, exceeds those words for miles. … 
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