Last hot afternoon of August. The bus is already parked. She is not in a hurry.
Crochet, fringe, and a chain of daisies. That is the whole wardrobe.
She keeps one flower and gives the field the rest.
The peace sign was already there. The chain is new.
Seed beads and a sun that has already been on her for weeks.
Barefoot through the marigolds. The bus can wait.
Someone said something. She has not stopped laughing.
Make a wish. She already spent hers on the afternoon.
No crown. Just the face the field already knows.
Hazel, freckles, and a crown that will not survive the wind.
The door is the porch. The grass is the step.
She is not painting a slogan. She is finishing a job.
Take it. She can make another.
This is the poster. She did not pose for a poster.
The crown slips. She does not fix it.
When the light goes copper she stops walking.
The field is louder than she is.
Lark Meadow. Sunchild Field. August, 1972.
She did not bring shoes. The meadow did not ask.
She is leaving the frame. She is not leaving the afternoon.