Rye Field






Rye Field

                                                                

She sits there on Rye Field-DEAD.

A cold, dark reminder

Of life’s cruelties and inevitable losses.

She sits there DEAD,

In plain sight

Yet unnoticed.

By everyone but me.

I see her every day, as I pass by.

I see the empty shell that once shouldered heavy loads,

Protected and carried the young.



At first, she held a light of promise,

 
a spark of hope.

Later - an oppressive weight.

The light extinguished, the spark now gone

Her death brings despair.

But also, painful relief.



When I pass her by

I wonder when they’ll come.

When they’ll find her and take her away;

Take her home where she belongs.

 Home, so I no longer see her body,

 at once, a longing and a repellent.



Until one day-long after she dies on Rye Field-

Her man comes to take her.

Men surround her empty shell-

Men that have come to haul her away.

He smudges her with Sweetgrass and Cedar --

A cruel lie to all who know the truth.



I watch when passing Rye Field

Heart heavy with all she stripped away

Heavy with truth and lies

And words carried away on the wind.

And knowing her death was the catalyst of it all

I stifle the tears in regard for the darkness-

The hole she left behind.



Her body is now gone

But I still pass by the spot she once laid

As broken as she, as empty.

And the destruction she left in her wake

Haunts me as I pass the empty place where she died.

On Rye Field.
 
A.D. Hurley
 
 
A.D. Hurley lives in the mountains of North Georgia, with her large brood of children, a fantastically domesticated husband, and two dogs.  Her passion for writing blossomed and consumed her from an early age, and has since dedicated her life to the craft.  She is also an avid photographer and has been published internationally in several magazines. She is currently working on her second novel.
 
 
 
 
 

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