Common Field

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COMMON FIELD


Sure, good fences make good 

neighbors, but no fences makes good 

conversation about who mows what,

because with the easement 

where it is it makes more sense

that yall continue to take care of that strip, 

which we’re okay with as long as you are, 

and—not that it matters—

yall know that it belongs 

to us, and we could plant a garden

there if we wanted to. 

No fences comples us to 

confront how awkwardly our 

lives so intimately inter-

sect in this field we share, 

how between your family, ours, 

and Eddie and Cathy on the hill, 

we’re not as clearly defined

as we’d like to imagine, 

how really—mid-finger-point down

the blackberry hedge growing along

the property line—one might come   

to taste how silly we sound, 

pretending to own even the cluster of words

purpling as the weather warms,

tart and sweet on the tip of our tongues. 

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