A field lies fallow usually for one of two reasons. Either the farmer is allowing the land some time off, or the field is experiencing some kind of neglect. Or perhaps it’s been put to other uses, like a graveyard for a rusted automobile, a cemetery for memories and failures. In that case, the field assumes an air of rejection, barrenness and abandonment, like when a marriage fails.
Let Scott Edward Anderson tell the story of “Fallow Field:”
The old car is there,
where she left it,
our by the old shed,
from the roadway by the rye grass
that grows up all around.
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.