A Field of Colors

I.

Saturday afternoon & I am at my field, a field of colors. I tell the girls OKAY, & they sprint down the slope. The ribbons tied to their hair wave back to me & say HELLO, or GOODBYE. They are my girls for the week & they spread the field, collecting rainbow shards off the ground into baskets normally reserved for easter egg hunts. My youngest finds a rainbow stick & sucks on it like a candy cane & says to me later in the truck that rainbows taste just like pancake syrup & can she have some more before bed.

I tell her YES. YOU CAN.

II.

I am back at my field, a field of dismembered bodies. There are human parts & there are animal parts strewn about. There are flecks of rainbow in the grass, the colors of yesterday. My girls sit in a circle & construct a new species of animal. Part monkey tail & zebra head & baby elephant body. Killer whale teeth in their ladle cupped palms. They name their pet in the making Australia & when they are done they will ride Australia & conquer mountains & stomp out desperate tigers. They will rope in lovers & bound them tight & never let go. They say WE WILL DO THIS. Then challenge my eyes to disagree.

III.

My girls sleep in their beds & I return to my field. I park on a hill & stay in the cab. Windows rolled down. Radio friendly murmurs. Darkness taking on different shapes. I remember driving Aimee here most nights. When we were younger & cared less. We listened as my field shifted. We made guesses & wrote them on the back of our hands. She was the winner, once. A field of singing sunflowers at daybreak.

I come but no longer play the game.

IV.

They say BUT WHAT ABOUT THE FIELD? WHAT WILL WE MISS WHILE WE ARE AWAY?

I tell my girls ONE DAY THERE WILL BE A FIELD OF RABBITS. RABBITS THE SIZE OF HOUSES. THEY WILL RACE EACH OTHER IN ZIGZAGS & BARREL THROUGH FORESTS. THE NEXT DAY THERE WILL BE A FIELD OF VEGETABLES. TO FEED THE RABBITS.

They say WE DO NOT LIKE RABBITS. WE HATE IT WHEN MOMMY FORCES US TO FINISH OUR VEGETABLES.

V.

The days pass. A change in the weather. My field is unattended. I do not know what goes on there.

VI.

I tell my girls KEEP WATCH FOR CUTTING EDGES & CORNERS. We are at my field, a field of blank white paper. My youngest wants to color but I have no crayons for her. My eldest calls everyone together & teaches origami. She says THIS IS HOW YOU FOLD A CRANE. THIS IS HOW YOU FOLD A ROSE. NO, YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG.

My girls grow in front of me. Their voices carry loads. I fold paper planes that will never know flight. They sit in a line, waiting for takeoff. My girls come to me & say THIS FIELD IS BORING. CAN WE GO BACK HOME NOW? When we reach the truck they say NO. OUR OTHER HOME.

VII.

My girls live with Aimee for the week & I am alone. At my field. A field of chairs. I sit in every one.

VIII.

It is early morning & no one yet exists. I am at my field, a field of heavenly things. Only my youngest visits with me. She plays the angel & wears five halos over her head & they do not fall out of place, even when she goes tumbling on elbows & knees. The halos are unlit & metallic-looking & I wish I could somehow reignite them with fire. I would use them for headlights & banish the night. My youngest adds a sixth halo & tells me not to worry because there’s no weight & that wearing them makes her head feel empty inside. She says EMPTY BUT IN A GOOD WAY. Then touches my face.

this story was originally published by mlp