Poem

Ciara in the Field

White rose in hand; she ambles
down pasture, dreams
How can the heart know light?
stuck
in the mud,
It does not see star shine.
plucking sandals
from muck.
It does not see moon light.
She watches lapwing
It does not know brightness of eyes.
dart across field
over cow,
barbed fence
It does not know the mystery of shadow.
and rosebush. Jean bottoms
waterlogged,
soaked through
It does not seem to know its way.
a brown frog croaks
and she stoops
It acts too fast; reacts too slow.
to kiss,
pricks her arm
against a blackthorn
‘A poor torn heart’* never tears in a day.
sloe fruit tart
against lips and tongue.

*from Emily Dickinson’s Part One: Life #49