POEMA EN INGLÉS
DE STEPHEN PAGE
THE DROUGHTBY
In a Field
Northeast
of the Wood
The soy
is stunted
The pods
The pods
hang brown
and brittle
The leaves twirl dunly.
The bees!
I never knew
The bees!
I never knew
There could be
so many!
How angry
How angry
they sound
in the afternoon:
Hundreds
of white wood hives
Pueblo
Pueblo
the edge
Of the wood.
I could not reach
I could not reach
the wood
The bramble
and burrs
Were too thick
Boundaring
Boundaring
the tree line
Incompatible
With my bare legs.
My ranch house
My ranch house
sits kilometersAway,
my 4x4 is parked
On the road
behind me.
I want to enter
I want to enter
the myth
Of the wood,
the legend of its shade
To lick the dew off leaves.
The thistle
The thistle
has bloomed to seed.
Has published on Prairie Poetry: http://www.prairiepoetry.org/poetry07/poems
