The Fields of May

These golden seas of rapeseed, testaments
and tabernacles all around the town,
cower me: as neon is to night, they are
to the sun. With green beneath, their blooms shine up.
From a distance you can’t make out the leaves,
only vast vibrant blankets, cool, aglow.
I haven’t cared for yellow much, but this
splendor of spring has quite converted me,

as churches did, once, beckoning the pilgrim
to visit towns nearby with skyward aim.
I used to frequent churches, peek in shrines
of artificial ornaments and things,
and climb their towers, but till this day-long jaunt
through rapeseed fields, had never run in one

About the author

James B. Nicola's career as an often-itinerant stage director has brought him from Florida to Alaska, including fun college towns like Missoula, MT; Laramie,…

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Issue 21 · October 2014

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