by Lane Fields
The road cuts through halls of trees, snakes through my hometown. See the signposts for creeks and bisecting lanes named for broods that never left the county. See tumbledown two-room homesteads with John Deere riding mowers chained to posts out back. See stucco fortresses with their balustrade-lined balconies and iron gates. See the fields extend far beyond the view of the road, acres stretching out and away from developed land. See the blood-wet corpse of a fawn in the gutter, its mother aching somewhere in the clearing, surrounded by birches, watchful owls, and hum of cicadas, late summer’s abundant song. ____
Lane Fields is a queer, trans poet living in Boston and a student of the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. Lane’s poetry is forthcoming or has appeared in places such as Hobart, Yemassee, The New Southern Fugitives, and Tupelo Press’s 30/30 Project. You can follow Lane on Instagram at @lane.fields or Twitter at @ohwowitslane.
