Sharon M. Van Sluijs
School of Medicine and Public Health, Department of Pediatrics
2006
Poem (sonnet)
Even the frowzy cows I passed
on the narrow, muddy path up here
think it’s a mystery. Their eyes asked
why this high grassy field, so near,
is not theirs to graze. They have bellied the fence
with their longing and leaning towards the sweet
wind-lain blades: uncut, no maintenance
planned in this lonely, unpeopled off-season.
It is late February in the Iron Age Village.
I pass the unmanned ticket gate.
There: gorse-choked foundations—muted rock, aged
smooth by the wind’s rough hands. I wait.
The ruins seem simple stones again, retreating
from history; the grass inviting the cows to eat.
Note: Gorse is a fast-growing weedy shrub throughout England’s Penwith Peninsula.