The Field on Orr Road

tonight,
she will stroll through a field of dust
and this will be her vacation, time
away from the city lights and the parks holding lakes close.
away from those places that remind us of simpler times, of
easier days when the worst thing was forgetting to change
clothes from school dress to play rags. she is letting go
of home to find a barren place to set camp and a creek
to reflect herself looking into silent eyes.

this field was not always dust. once,
it boasted fertile crops and tire-swing trees
with enough openness for every imagination, enough
space to swallow time's passing in a soundless breath
without a care of anyone or anything else that could or could have ever existed
past, present, future, or hereafter; before
the weight of death, disease, war, and famine invaded her conscience
burdening an already heavy heart wrought with loss and lies. now,
the field swirls with recent fires from desire and rage, swirls with frowns
the hopeful clouds that allow the sun to beam with heavy smoke
that gives little chance for the sun to smile, swirls with apprehension
the once-proud wind of warm solitude into a cold blast
lonely and desolate in it's effort to run. the field everyone lost
learns to live.

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