3.14.2016

Birth, in a Cornfield

The wind above the dried stalks—
cooled air rustling, enormous breaths
coupled to my own—and the imperceptible
heartbeat of the ground were

my bound hood and cloak as I crept forward
though the narrow lines of the field:

I began to bend into myself,
to stoop and curl like a withering leaf,
knees to chin, toes to mouth,
some tenuous feeling like a tether behind
me, a quivering cord ready
to break

And then, the sky.
That vast slate awning, softly marbled and
whispering infinity.

then, endless grass in tilted planes,
the horizon’s magnetic gravity,
Eliza’s wondering murmur in my left ear
and the first long inhale that drew
my whole being upright

We had stumbled over the crying threshold.
The wind’s cold hands soothed back
our wild hair, and we gasped for freedom, aching
with sudden possibility—
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