Field by Douglas Korb


A man stands in my field informing me
the body is light, we are all light.

Where is your proof? There must be
a switch to alternate my current mood.

With a spoon in my hand I show him
my reflection. I believe what I see

and see you believe me to be
something you believe to see.

I lift the spoon to dig out my eyes.
The man does not cry for me, he says,

the body is light, we are all light.

Where is your proof? There must be

a switch to ignite me in darkness.
I believe the house dark until it is lit

yet cannot explain how space remains black
when it is full of stars. The man

does not consider paradox, he says,
the body is light, we are all light.

Where is your proof? There must be
a switch to charge the body with hope.

I believe that my fingers and thumbs
glow with blood. In my hands, my eyes

add up to two white zeroes. The man
does not pursue equations, he says

the body is light, we are all light.

Where is your proof? There must be

a charge electrifying this fence between us.

 

Douglas Korb is the author of a chapbook, The Cut Worm, and his poems and reviews have appeared in magazines such as Hobart, Versal, Barrelhouse, Spork, RHINO, Talisman, Poet Lore, and elsewhere. His erasure art can be found online at www.brokarthere.wordpress.com. He lives in Marlboro, VT.