The Field
Rachel Jesuton Olaolu Amosu
The Field
I come to the field
To erase
Shed thoughts
Like skin
With every
Step, their
Crispy shells
Crackle and
Crunch
Under foot,
Delicious.
I come to the field
To hear
No
Music
No
Thing
and
No
One.
Especially not
Myself.
No
Objectives
No
Mouths
Demanding
Answers or,
Ears.
I come to be
A rock.
Silent
Immutable
And above all, Sure
Of my form.
Confident merely in the pleasure of solidity
Purpose, only
If there is
One to be had