Fortress

Green fields in a muggy summer haze
a long dirt road
young wheat the color of lavender
(was it purple before?)
I must not have seen it in spring

The pear tree’s gone, the apple tree too
I miss the honeysuckles and blackberries
and the thrill of the warning of snakes
that patio we’d run to soaking wet
and lay face down
leaving perfect prints of bodies that made us laugh

A 17-year fortress with 17 more of returns
so much I love
a bit I hate
its pretty
conflicted feelings about this place
and the people I love

I return and find myself vulnerable again
to the old things that brought comfort and fear
not within my control
sitting in a field under a private blue sky
with clouds rolling by as quickly as life
taking no notice of what’s below

But those stars at night
still the center of my universe
crickets and fireflies most adored
the place I get answers to questions not asked

When I return again that wheat will be gold
the cycle I depend on
that pulls me back
and keeps me same