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

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