This morning the field spiders
set their webs to the stems
of the broom grass
so that in that light
it looked like a thousand tall ships
sailing across the green and amber field.
I looked beyond the sea of grasses
to the nearby mountains
that silently watched the woods
and fields where we walked
And remembered you
making your own way across the field,
ignoring my calls to stay as your black tail
disappeared over the grey stone wall.
What a privilege it was to walk with you
each day in the rising and falling light
— an escape to the order
kept by the field.
It's quiet here now
without the fox watching
or doe standing her ground;
it's not the same,
the order of things,
they were never the same
after you left.
Jack J. Chielli is a writer living in Frederick, Maryland. He has an MA in poetry from Wilkes University and a BA in Writing from Roger Williams University. He has been writing since he was very young; in fact, wanting to write is his first memory. He was editor of his collegiate literary magazine, Aldebaran. Jack also was a journalist for many years before working in politics. He is currently in higher education where he is a vice president of enrollment management, marketing and communications. His poetry is forthcoming or has been published in Plainsongs, the anthology project Keystone: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania, Martin Lake Journal, Schuylkill Valley Journal , EcoTheo, Coal Hill Review, and Hole in the Head Review.