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Martha Serpas

  • April 5, 2007

    Lying in the Middle of the Field

    Tidewater, Oregon

    The tractor has left rows in the grass,
    somewhat like rows of cut cane. Louisiana,
    I take you everywhere.

    The field itself is a giant row
    between aisles of fir and alder,
    a chute running west to east,

    as I will run west to east,
    not like the hurrying of the sun--
    beginning and end being one and all that.

    Some might call this loafing.
    It is such a pleasure at this point
    not to care what the locals

    in their trucks, the loggers,
    and the UPS man might think
    if they saw me from the road.

    A field with no boundaries,
    an expanse of tideland
    is more honest really

    my back sinking in the mud,
    high tide covering my joy.

    Martha Serpas