Field

a poem

Photo by the author’s father

My father sent me photos today
Of the yellow fields sprung up overnight in a now South Texas spring
Blankets span a wide angle lens on his ancient iPhone 4 turned sideways
Click click click
in the warm wind
Yellow on top of yellow
arching up and taking over,
a sky’s worth of gold

We know heat and dry clumpy thunderheads that tease then disperse into white mists —
escorting rain to someone else
We watched for the first wildflowers
every winter,
shared the news of paintbrushes, winecups
Bluebonnets
under barbed wire or an overpass,
driving miles to see them
Like Christmas lights
Without the loneliness

Spring renews him
he is alive
Silently I say please
Do not stop sending me the unremarkable,
This annual debut of color we awaited
I want to be be a witness, to share in the seeing,
Watch you still delight in the only real season we have
greeting you and now me through you

I pray you feel the soft scattering of yellow in a soul still cracked open enough
as brief respites across a dry March toss a piece of grey hair toward weary hazel eyes
And you
Look out and up