The Wide Field

Black feet
tucked underneath,

she’s lying down
like someone tired, sprawled

in the grass, head
nestling on a pillow.

Her wool, creamy soft
still keeping out the rain,

sockets filled with the shadows
she always avoided.

There’s nothing to fear,
just an emptiness

dark as starless nights
without her soul’s small windows

through which she once
scanned the wide field.

Maria Jastrzᶒbska