Field
A field of black-eyed Susans that you ran
through, your shirt off, brassy petals
shining, sun and sneezy scent, your face
so close to the thousand dark eyes that swayed
unblinking in your wake. Only three years old,
you gave no thought to running through, didn't wonder
what might remain. Yet it does,
the memory glows. Skin, sun, blossoms - larger,
somehow, than the tall man waiting
at the edge of the field to take you home.
(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society