The field is full of sweet clover.
This is the truest line I can write.
There was a time when,
with discriminating precision,
I cleared this field of sweet clover,
preferring only rushes and grass.
Now, after a rain-rich spring
and a sweltering summer,
the deep field is startlingly aglow
with millions of tiny yellow flowers.
The field full of sweet clover is beautiful.
This is an opinion.
A woman can think what she wants to think.
Sometimes her thoughts think her.
Beautiful. Not beautiful.
This argument stretches
past the open field.
Sweet clover has a taproot
is difficult to pull up when the earth is dry.
This is a fact.
In a woman, there are ten thousand
tap-rooted lies about how she looks
and who she is. If she pulls one up,
and even a bit of the lie remains,
it comes back twice as vigorous.
The field is full of sweet clover.
There is something so comforting
about knowing it is true,
so comforting I say it again.
The field is full of sweet clover.
There are thousands of honeybees.
The field is full of sweet clover.
I look into it like a mirror.
Holy Toledo and holy smokes! I was knocked offa my feet by this one. I did NOT see it coming—the taproot metaphor. Such a crafted braiding and spiraling back. Once again, you’ve gifted us a poem that is such a rich one for looking closely at, seeing (at least some of) its layers, following its threads and implications, letting its ripples ring and resonate.
When you’re gathering for your next collection, include this one.
Wowza! Thank you.
(okay, while i stand firmly and rooted by what i’ve said about this poem, i’m not so liking its current title—seems a bit too cliche-y, too “surface-y”; albeit i can’t think of an improvement, nor even a direction toward such. but in time, i’m certain its proper, true name, will arise.)
Lovely, powerful and sweet! I do like the shorter lines. The full stops. The matter of fact (but hardly fact) sound of the poem. I think it suits what this poem is about. And the woman speaking it.