Field, by Dane Hamann
You’re standing out in the field
for no particular reason, the long
grass reaching up as if it wants
to be the trees. The warm air
fragrant with approaching rain,
the chirps and croaks of smaller
things still singing to each other.
This is where you breathe. Take
in the fullness of everything
that’s not you. The green oats
slowly wave like a sloshing sea
as the wind gently drapes
a humid blanket across your
bare skin. The oats, still waiting
for the harvest, mimic the coming
rain. You’re content to listen
forever as the trees answer
the oats with the deeper applause
of their dark green leaves. The sweet
smell of the soil invites you to stay.
A square shape, reddish brown,
just barely peeks over the trees.
Is it the brick chimney of a house?
Your home? You’d rather not know.
Dane Hamann works as an editor for a textbook publisher in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. He received his MFA in Creative Writing from Northwestern University and later served as the poetry editor of TriQuarterly for over five years. His chapbook Q&A was published by Sutra Press and his micro-chapbooks have been included in multiple Ghost City Press Summer Series. His poetry collection, A Thistle Stuck in the Throat of the Sun, was recently published by Kelsay Books.
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