Unplowed Fields

Unplowed Field
--dedicated to the recipients of government-controlled health care.

See the bridge of pink clouds
And the sun pouring its last drops of day under it.
See how the grass in spring glows a gullible glow,
Like youthful love thinking all kisses are sweet breath,

That nothing could topple the head-tilt of flat-chested girls
Who linger stares at photographs of adolescent lovers.
It’s green, greener than green in evening light—
The grass, that is.

Beside the meadow with honeysuckle air
Along a fence row, half hidden by sugar maple limbs
Drooping like excused guilt,

There is a field the plow has passed,
Filled with hollow stalks that stiffly stare
At a sun they cannot use.

They clutter the days
Beyond those worth remembering,
Are rigid as old men held down
In nursing home beds.

Stems of reason are broken;
Baggy-breasted daughters sigh
At dutiful burdens,
Who poke scheduled spoons of Jello
Into mouths forgetting to close.

Amber stems are changed to gray.
Brittle and stiff; they are litter,
A burden to fields
When the plow has passed them by;
There glows among their empty stems
The showy primrose of spring.



--first appeared in Sands, 1985