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    There were fields behind the house

    distant and vast,

    loud with crows,

    the voices of my first mornings,

    brown , dry voices

    full of cornstalks and wind

    like sounds from

    an unseen farm,

    fields of newness and growing things

    spread out somewhere

    beyond the backyard.


    The voices talked to me

    about the fields,

    a different world

    far, far away.

    I listened in bed

    very small, very new,

    believing the voices,

    imagining strange figures

    with soft arms and legs

    moving through rustling fields,

    straw faces with straw mouths


    calling me to the fields,

    waiting for me

    among safe shadows

    while I lay in the innocence

    of early morning


    not understanding

    that crows have voices

    but scarecrows do not,

    not knowing the difference,


    and that there were no fields

    beyond the house

    only other houses

    with people hearing the same voices

    of those early crows

    calling from their yards.








    ACROSS THE BORDER    (My uncle lived on a ranch in Northern Mexico)


    We called it simply

    “across the border.”


    Another world,

    No plumbing

    Just a large porcelain bowl,

    A bar of Ivory soap

    Floating in warm water

    That clouded to thick white,

    My sister and I new princesses

    Bathing in milk.


    No electricity

    Just oil lanterns

    That made us evil,

    Painted us huge and black

    On the walls

    Of the cold bedroom.


    Outside, true darkness

    Covered the silent hills and trees

    While the night sky opened

    A jewel-filled fist:


    Billions of stars

    Freed for the night,

    Released into endless, perfect black,


    Long before thoughts

    Of other borders to cross,

    Other universes,

    Or Heaven

    Already waiting for us

    Somewhere among those

    Silent, innocent stars.

    About The Author

    Kathryn de Leon

    Kathryn is originally from Los Angeles, and is an English teacher who has been living in Essex, England for five years. Ms. De Leon has written poetry for most of her life, and her poems were published in several small magazines in the US, but that was quite awhile ago. She has just recently decided to submit work for publication again, and aaduna is pleased that her work found a home with us.