a field in england – a poem by Lorelei Bacht

a field in england

 
you can trust our concealed conversations:
we have been growing your bodies for years.
 
pour yourself another cup of bitter. stir
honey in, to smooth out the beating.
 
so. here it is, our golden teaching: 
 
you will not be cured of your loneliness,
your longing – deep, incapable
 
of communion with stars. there will
always be a surface, a distance from

and a distance within.
 
you do not need to eavesdrop on others –
they too: incapable of salvaging. they too:

clueless when it comes to being.
 
here is the plan: 
 
when you are finished exploring 
alternatives, and each route leading you 
 
back here; when you are done jolting,
jerking a panic of splashes, and realise
 
that you can breathe, being a fish – 

then, you will begin to learn something. 
although we must warn you: at first,
 
learning does not feel like learning. 

Lorelei Bacht is a poetic experiment, a beautifully broken body, and a mother to two young children. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Beir Bua, Dodging the Rain, The Madrigal, Briefly Zine, The Selkie, Green Ink Poetry, streecake, Marble Poetry, and elsewhere. She is also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer and on Twitter @bachtlorelei