Lie Fallow

”Write a poem about something that makes you uncomfortable.”

31 August 2025. I’m usually uncomfortable in the yard, outside in general. Pain in my legs, mazes of spiderwebs, hordes of biting insects, the heat. It gets better when the summer is ending. This morning was cooler and I forced myself to have some coffee uncomfortable.

My clothes against my skin
My skin stretched across my body
The dirk between my vertebrae
The radiating sting of guilt
The joints that spectral scream
The smudged lens, sight obscured
The pressure in my guts
The bones that beg to make escape
The tingling numbness at my nape
The rotten, secret recesses.

A baby’s scream, a wail of “No!”
Loud noises in the night
The constant till of spoiled fields
Never enough light.

A failure.
A failure.
Hereditary tics. 

Life rushing past a closed window.
Runaway trains.
The tunnel betrays no light.

How long will I lie fallow?

9 September 2025, Lie Fallow.

I wrote the first draft of this in about 5 minutes, just writing without worrying about rhyme or aesthetics. Whether it’s any good or not, I don’t know. Probably not. But it is honest. - Peggy