The Unmown Field
Fifteen years and even I
who watched every season
of its changing can no longer
remember the field
that’s grown over.
Sheltered by snow-toppled
grasses, the green shoots
of trees hardened,
and by the first June
red cedars tongued
the air above bluestem.
Nothing lasts. Not the field,
not my girlhood, not the baby
I carried until the next came
behind him. Now my daughter
is the one who is young,
and already too heavy
to carry. Doves croon
to her from new pines
as they did from the pines
of my childhood. The sorrow
in their song is the sorrow
of the human listener,
old sorrow that somehow
I knew even then.
Other Works
Sophia Shalmiyev Interview
by Sean Sam
... I want to take the witness stand as the most logical, terse, unemotional, unpolitical (that doesn’t exist and is a posture) self when I recite the basics of the abuse. None of these voices are authentic or are grounded in reality of human need, yet men have decided they are the gold standard of behavior ...
Roxana Geffen Interview
by Sean Sam
... I wanted to be overt about the peculiarities of WASP culture, instead of treating it as the default unmarked category, to treat it the way an ethnographer would. Growing up I always resisted this idea of excessive ancestor worship ...