Produced by Maine Poetry Central and Dennis Camire

This week’s poem by Claire Hersom articulates many thoughts Mainers have had when contemplating the seasonal changes the lush fields around us undergo.

 

Seasons of the Field

For Kate O’Grady, Pittston, Maine

By Claire Hersom

 

Soon the field will stop its moving

the buzzing of its busy bees

the rumble of its summer storms

the quiver of its grassy knees

and fall will pass to winter

 

its bitter breath up silent hills

will sway stiff and barren branches,

send snow to glitter the starry night,

scatter tiny birds

across the world to wait

 

for icy brooks to melt and swell,

pool puddles for the earth again to drink,

seep down toward seedlings sleeping

who with their stiff and thawing backs

will stretch out toward the sun.

 

Soon the field will come alive,

berries ripe and clover sweet

will be the gift of tender night;

the dewy gift of morning too

will run the green horizon,

and I will walk her verdant spring

like a man starving.

 

Dennis Camire can be reached at [email protected]