Monday, January 5, 2009

A FIELD IN JANUARY

Old plank fence, Empty gateway. Not even a path In the winter grass Revealing recent passage. Once fertile fields Now bounteous with Goldenrod and Cedar, Queen Anne’s lace, Honeysuckle, red haw. Under your boots, Weed-covered earth Still bears shallows rows, Disintegrating scars From long-gone plows. You have to ask yourself, Why? What happened here? What caused this abandonment? Finances? Sickness? A bad marriage? A life as fallow as this field? Only questions remain… Plus a field of weeds, A rotting wooden fence, Deserted gateposts, And ghost lines in the earth.

2 comments:

forest wisdom said...

Wow, you're a poet too.

Good stuff, Grizzled, I'm really glad you posted this.

The-Grizzled-But-Still-Incorrigible-Scribe-Himself! said...

Forest…

You are a kind soul. Thank you.