Revision

 

Winter Harvest

A field remembers:

every spade,
potato, fungus,
and famine
sows its own
little mound
of sorrow;

the grazing of the cows
and the plowman,

leaving.

 

Journal of Kentucky Studies, 2009

 

Bridget Cleary

 
A field remembers.
Every spade, potatos, fungus,

and famine
marks a unique impression.

The grazing of cows
and the plowman, leaving.

A cottage floor
houses stories of its own:

the flickering faces
of unreachable people,

fever, the heat
of the kerosene.

The world will end,
urgent as an emergency:

geese flying over the roof,
agitation,

and trees,
wild and weeping.

 

2001

The Importance of Writing Badly (Donald Murray)

   

Monarch and Viceroy  

 

 

Though the lily lasts only a day it is quickly replaced

by another      grass grows taller      making hay and the girl

who comes down from the hilltop      each day      to make daisy

chains and crowns and necklaces      sometimes she uses clover    is imperceptibly

molting      look closely and you can see her     in a field of milkweed

aflame in her colorful flowers     she is studded with the fluttering

of butterflies     she is Queen of the Milkweed      see her circling there

in her crown    turning and turning      her two small palms      reaching up

toward the sun     it is hard to believe       she will ever experience

failure      summer will come to its rightful conclusion      the milkweed field

will fill with brown pods of white cottony blossoms and the monarchs will leave

following the wave of their great migration      the girl will pass the field

and arrive at the pond where she will startle the frogs      a red-winged blackbird will

catch her eye as it lands on a reed      or so it will seem      she will see

the goldenrod in its prime       she will see a single orange and black

butterfly and think it a monarch      though they have left for the season.

 

 

 

Nettie Farris

14 February 2007

Journal of Kentucky Studies, 2007

                       

 

 

 

Monarch and Viceroy

 

 

Though the lily lasts only a day, it is quickly replaced

by another.  Grass grows taller,

making hay, and the girl who comes down

from the hilltop each day

to make daisy chains and crowns and necklaces

 

(sometimes she uses clover) is imperceptibly

molting. Look closely and you can see her

in a field of milkweed, aflame in her colorful flowers.

She is studded with the fluttering of butterflies. 

She is Queen of the Milkweed. 

 

See her circling there (in her crown) turning

and turning, her two small palms reaching up

toward the sun?  It is hard to believe

she will ever experience failure.

Summer will come to its rightful conclusion. 

 

The milkweed field will fill

with brown pods of white cottony blossoms,

and the monarchs will leave, following the wave

of their great migration.  The girl will pass the field

and arrive at the pond, where she will startle

 

the frogs.  A red-winged blackbird will catch her eye

as it lands on a reed.  (Or so it will seem.) 

She will see the goldenrod, in its prime. 

She will see a single orange and black butterfly

and think it a monarch, though they have left for the season. 

 

 

13 February 2007

 

 

 

 

Monarch and Viceroy

 

Winter had reigned, alien and inhospitable, until, at last, its fervor was all spent, and it came to rest, peaceable, yet still greedy. The arrival of spring was delayed, and the world stood agape, teetering on the brink between seasons. Was it time to awake? Or should one simply keep dreaming? Finally the earth stirred, and from the air, a bird spied one whit crocus rising up from the mud. (Or so it seemed.) Soon daffodils followed.  And tulips.  Narcissus. Forsythia (with its onslaught of briht yellow blossoms) and fruit trees (pear and cherry), lining the roadside. No one could remember wuch earthly abundance. It blunted one’s senses. And by the time the old locust trees came in, gifting the wind with their sweet-smelling sadness, one hardly noticed them.

 

So it goes with those who follow.

 

Summer is more comfortable. Though the lily lasts only a day, it is quickly replaced by another. Grass grows taller, making hay. And the girl who comes down from the hilltop each day to make daisy chains and crowns and necklaces (sometimes she uses clover), is imperceptibly molting.

 

Look closely and you can see her in a field of milkweed, aflame in her colorful flowers. She is studded with the fluttering of butterflies. She is Queen of the Milkweed. See her circling there (in her crown), turning and turning, her two small palms reaching up like a psalm? It is hard to believe she will ever experience failure.

 

Summer will come to its rightful conclusion. The milkweed field will fill with the brown pods of white cottony blossoms. And the monarchs will leave, following the wave of their great migration. The girl will pass the field and arrive at the pond, where she will startle the frogs. A red-winged blackbird will catch her eye as it lands on a reed. (Or so it will seem). She will see the goldenrod, in its prime. She will see a single orange and black butterfly and think it a monarch, though they have left for the season.

 

She will go home, leaving the butterfly to feast on its nectar.

 

See the horizontal black stripe on its lower wing? To the red-winged blackbird, the monarch and the viceroy look very much alike (and tastes equally awful), but the viceroy endures winter. It adapts. Viceroy does not follow the monarch’s great migration, but stays, waiting patiently for spring.

 

 

5 June 2004

Rejected by Journal of Kentucky Studies, for obvious reasons.  

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