a poem by elizabeth barnett

The farm


You write these laws
about the fields,
the woods.

They say no,
there are no men
living in the hollow

of the stream.
Or, a knife is enough
to keep them off.

(The law at night,
another circumstance.)
It says pull

a pale root
out of the ground
and hide it in your hand

until your fist won’t open.
And you do it
to be alright.

But you break
all over
like the law at night.




“The farm” first appeared in Slice 12 (2013).



Elizabeth Barnett's work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in 32 Poems, Alaska Quarterly Review, Gulf Coast, Ninth Letter, and Sixth Finch. She edits the digital broadside project, Rove (rovepoetry.org).