Field Notes on Loving a Girl in Secret
       

There's a danger in comparing her to things.
Her prayer, a stall of horses. Her anger,
the beak of a bird. Her sleep, a sun-bleached fence.
Her sadness, a yard pile of firewood.

A patch of pines is all I remember of a field.
Quiet, she says. Her stick-shift sedan,
her trouble with mathematics, her car radio
turned up all the way. I write her questions

on a sheet of paper so no one can hear.
Late at night in my blue car, we drive
back roads, the only place we speak openly.
The field's full enough tonight, I think,
to break into a thousand wings.

Tweet

Copyright © 2021 Julia Koets All rights reserved
from Pine
Southern Indiana Review Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission