we barn lay
way laid, in the fields of nobodys vison,
you turn me on and i let your
hands wander where. my
heads comfy in the crook
of your arm. you said go long and i caught it easy.
pigskin never felt so good in the hands. yore tales of
the QB hart attack halted me in white deer tracks.
i want to be your three times girlfriend
hawks flying over while the quiet traffic
lands everywhere and we wonder has
anyone lain here before, just like this
wandering us in the grass.
tulip oak and beech leaves
frame ringlets of both of our brown hair that
wide sky reveals a thin lip of
cloud pressed pink by the cheek of sun rising
that little want you now foster,
a still wet field, our own for it is
early, and what is more sure, for it?
the hot august pavement?
the punishment of waiting burns some real
serge gold along our prone imaginations
i notice each myriad leaf points up
innumerable hands cupping
i am mystified that each rough side
faces us and you read my thots,
you say, as a child (to another child),
its going to rain, and i bury my face
in your dry hands.
Bree‘s latest book is And i Am Also Invasive (Birds and Bones 2017). She made a calendar of her collages and a book of them is forthcoming, thanks to the Kentucky Foundation for Women.