FECUND FIELD SEDUCTION
Richard Fein
art by Sandy DeLuca
"In these acres her fingers, yellow with pollen,
stroked the stamens of dozens of roses,
as she watched her father mate chickens with cocks
and cross bouquets of apple blossoms
into every manner of luscious fruit."
She raised her face, closed her eyes, and inhaled the grass scent
as if it were a bouquet of vintage wine.
But she was a connoisseur of country meadows
She had lived here till her parents sold the farm.
He drove her here but got lost twice.
For the last few miles, the redolent air guided her as she guided him.
Headily, she kicked off her sandals and dug her toes into the earth.
Afraid of animal droppings, he kept his shoes on.
She knelt and bent her head forward, draping her hair over her face.
Her long brown strands flowed into the tall green blades
so a seamless fabric swayed in the breeze.
But it was late. The car was parked on a gravel road.
She picked a blade and notched it with her fingernail,
then blew across the coarse grass harp playing an out-of-tune nursery rhyme.He also tried, but coughed when he sucked in a blade.
She tapped his back till the coughing stopped.
The car, the car on the gravel road. "Was it late already?" he wondered.
Then she leaned against the crotch of two large tree branches and stroked the rough bark.
He felt tingling on his skin.
She brushed her hair aside and smiled.
He wondered, the car, the car?
Her eyes replied, "Who cares."
Evening.
His bare feet sank into that childhood meadow.And then it was her turn, her turn
She sought a genesis in this soil.
