| Maggie Sawkins |
Bronzefield
Sounds like a place that once
was torched
by the breath of a god,
but more likely it was built
on a field of corn,
this building with high red walls
where you’ve finally
been netted,
my mutant butterfly.
When I come to visit
they search my mouth.
Maggie Sawkins
"Bronzefield" first appeared in Magma Poetry, vol. 36, Winter 2006.
First posted on April 17, 2011 3:52 PM