Fields of Wheat

Fields of wheat

the color of my mother’s hair

 

rolling

 

rolling passed the hazy edge

of a blue clear horizon

with bursts of white

hanging in the stillness

with no depth, no condescendence

 

and I fall

 

back onto the softness

beneath a tree with gnarled branches

feeling the way my own hair rests

between the narrow stalks

my body denting the perfection

of the undulating sea

 

and I am anonymous

 

in the waning light of an unblemished day

where a girl can still hide herself completely

on a small patch of ground

surrounded by acres of freedom

Reviews

[Crowley]

Ok ...now I am nostalgic for home. This so reminds of childhood for some reason. It also reminds me of sitting high on a butte in the middle of the Hopi reservation looking across miles of brilliant red and beige desert, totally alone but still a little unsettled. Great job...once again.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This is lovely! I enjoy the natural beauty woven into the texture of the piece. I was wondering if "passed" might not be better worded as "past" or at least separated there by some form of punctuation...I don't know, it struck me as odd in the context. Just a thought. Excellent work.

[W.k.kortas]

It is, indeed, a warm and winsome recollection to the simpler, easier time of childhood, where one could be "anonymous" in the best and happiest sense of the word. It's nicely built, highly visual. Very solid piece of work.

[Chelsea.]

This poem is.. warm :) That might not be the best describing word, but i liked this very much. I agree with DBURKE, you do paint quite a lovely picture here.

[DBURKE]

Ah the sweet days of laying back and not having a worry in the world is the feeling I get when reading this! great poem_ You create a very nice picture!