cornfield

the corn knows something is wrong
before anyone else. i was ten when the field 
behind our house grew doctors. it was 
just before the world fell apart again.
again again again again. back then,
i was still talking to a hole in the sky. i was
still drowning my hands in the creek 
each afternoon in the hopes that 
they would stop talking. prophecy fatigue. 
stop telling me this is bad, i always thought. 
i can already feel it's gonna be bad. 
nothing stops them though. they pound
on the walls. knock on the windows.
they always wanted to converse with the corn.
i guess that is what they still want. 
i have woken up to find a whole hand 
out their between the stalks. i leave out
a bowl of cream. hope it keep coaxing them home. 
the doctors just stood there. they had
no families & no purpose. they just waited
in white coats. we stopped walking down
the backroad where they would keep
their vigil. my mom would say, "soon"
as if that would smooth over
all the ugly edges. the corn grew eyes.
the corn grew fists. the doctors chattered
& wrote papers about all the sickness. 
they won medals & awards. they had photographers
take their pictures. the corn didn't grow tall
that year. most of it fell over. 
it is always a root-up kind of dying. 
there is something down there. 
a worm with no hands. a mass grave. 
some kind of brilliant wound. when the doctors 
departed it was august. the trees ached.
my house caught fire & we put it out 
with our thumbs. a smoldering little grain.
the doctors left behind their coats.
i remember my brother & i trying them on.
my hands said, "be careful what ghosts
you step inside." i shed the gloves 
& never returned to the field. every once
in a while i will see a piece of clothing left over.
a surgical mask. a boot. 
nothing much has changed. the corn is
still trying to warn us. my hands still talk.
they say, "close your eyes." they are out
of ideas. i do sometimes wonder 
what would have happened if i joined them.
the doctors. if maybe i could have been
taken with them to their holy nowhere.
instead, i am here. the corn is blinking.
my hands say, "do not stop. do not stop."