The Field in Relief
I see my shadow stretching out long and thin
along the surface of the plowed ground,
and I wonder how I have grown fivefold
in the waning of the light.
I ask an old man on a tractor
if I can take his photo, and
he wonders where it will
end up. The photo lives on
without him now,
and the tractor sits in stillness.
I walk my dog and am startled
by a young coyote, curious on its path.
I catch his eye for a moment,
and he runs away. I tread among
the giants, their heads bowed
above me, growing tall in the
plowed ground. And the birds feast,
not on the eyes of hanging men,
but on the smiling faces
of the sunflowers, now turned in the evening
away from where shadows run big. The cleared
field shows a snake in monochrome
against the brown earth and the slanted
light, where my husband plots the ground for
the harvest he hopes will come, himself
a silhouette in granite, standing against the
sky of burning orange.
*
Margaret Taylor-Ulizio is a poet from New Jersey. Margaret’s poems have appeared in the San Antonio Review, Amethyst Review, Orchards Poetry Journal, Merion West (forthcoming) as well as local anthologies.
