I am not here,
and I am not her.
valentines and deathwishes —
all out of season —
(Don’t you remember I take them seriously?)
I keep forgetting
how you did not mean sister
when you said sister
(and the rain is coming soon).
Must everything leave these bruises?
Watch hunger make a feast of the narrow.
And there are masks,
and there are masks.
We do not recognize the beast we feed until too late.
(Now what are you going to do with me?)
A soldier in a fool’s army,
a walk through mud,
and there were masks,
and there were masks
(and we never could suffer the command).
But then that is how I do not fit.
There was nothing I could do.
And nothing ever changes.
So I will cover my face.
And I will cover my face.
Wait and march the thin parade
until I fall and shatter.
cardinals. canada geese. redwings. grackle. song sparrow. bluebird. little swarms of bugs. more birds sooner rather than later? is it enough to see the evidence of my influence? no. not really. but is there a choice? no. not really. coopers hawk. mallards. those little slugs again. little tree sparrow. bluebirds for goodbye.
fieldnotes was written at the Marsh beginning Sept. 26, 2016 and ending near the same time in the following year, collected in memo books over the course of many rambling walks.
Beginning on Sept. 26, 2019, three years after the writing, fieldnotes will be published in its entirety, with posts appearing as the corresponding write-dates occur.
(at least to the best of my ability)