qarrtsiluni

Yesterday the field stretched away from the road,
empty except for the broken stalks of last year’s crop.

Today it is filled with arrivals and departures.
For now, the light stays later, but so does the dark.

Yesterday the tree was silent; today it sings.
High in the branches, an abandoned wasp nest peels back its layers.

A car pulls up to the stoplight, corner of Randall and Big Timber Road.
On its bumper: Lithuania in NATO.

In six years, the driver has not seen another issue
worth the effort to clean his bumper and replace the sticker.

He remembers late winter lingering in that other place,
the same dry stalks, the same blur of wings;

but the farmhouse was of stone, the barn still in use.
When the light changes, the line of traffic moves forward

and the geese stir and rise, stir and rise.
This may not be the right field.

It may not be the right time.

by Susanna Lang

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