in the field

recognize this jar gigi asks handing me
a small bouquet of something lilac-ish but not quite
in the bottle i used to send a birthday bouquet her way
at least a month ago if not more
the go-pro imprint on
trish’s forehead while sheri
follows us up/down the field
with her larger camera recording
movement (of working directly
with the earth she says)

the song we sing in the field
(and when i say field, i mean great expanse –
300 foot rows, maybe)
as we press the starts in
and cover them with dirt:
sun’s going down
beauty is unbound
day to night
night to day
blessings on you on your way
oh way oh

and the songs we sing on the transplanter
sometimes working out three part harmonies
which is a feat in itself
but even moreso while multitasking
with the sorghum starts:
i’m going up on the mountain
ain’t coming down til morning
i’m going up on the mountain
ain’t coming down in chains

and will sing this song
and i will rise up to the night sky
and i will sing this song
i do believe i’m back on solid ground
yes i believe i’m back on solid ground
check this out i say to cynthia
sitting next to me on the transplanter
(it’s near the end of the fieldwork day
which means we are getting loopy
and the starts are getting smaller and
more difficult to work with)
as i toss a handful of starts
in the general direction
of the rotating wheel rather than
placing the start, in turn, into the
rubber grabber basket
one at a time
i just want to start tossing them
over my shoulder i joke
trish and emory, milkshake faeries,
pull up in the borrowed too-clean truck
with a mason jar of milkshake
(chocolate banana) and more mason jars to sip out of
we clink glasses and
throw the sorghumsweet sips back
out in the field emory asks me
if i’ve heard the rinse and repeat song
(which i ask him to repeat
several times because i can’t hear
over the sound of the tractor)
to which i answer no and then
before dinner we watch the video
and i can’t help but dance in the office
(this is not how i woke up
but this is how i look now)
you live with your friends
in a house of stupidity nine
emory singing and splashing loud (improv)
in the bathtub after dinner
along with royals and a few other hits
and me laughing at the kitchen table
where my finger (slightly sliced on
rusty machinery) soaks in a bowl of saltwater
and an orion magazine is open before me
similar to riding roller coasters all day
and then going to bed and feeling impossibly still in motion
in my end of the day winding down
there is still the motion of that transplanter wheel
clacking and squeaking in front of me
while the soil rolls by underneath


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