Dwelling, Here At evening, in the lush cornfield alongside our farmhouse, the mask of light becomes another shade of indigo, and those green tongues begin to stir, whispering loud, and louder still, like a crowd of people standing too close to each other. The loneliness of this hour, even among unison, among luster, makes me inch closer to this immensity that could swallow me whole if I walked inside my shoes, inside my skin, without pushing my way through the tasseled corn that swells with an intoxicating smell that could make me fall unconscious if I breath too deeply, like the corn itself, breathing in shadows, surrounding me in height, hiding me from any world that isn’t this world— this other world that dreams of a life raised up to this deepening light, this soothing light, this light of dwelling.
M.J. Iuppa’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 31 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.