Bronzefield

Sounds like a place that once
was torched
by the breath of a god,

but more likely it was built
on a field of corn,

this building with high red walls

where you’ve finally
been netted,
my mutant butterfly.

When I come to visit
they search my mouth.

Maggie Sawkins
“Bronzefield” first appeared in Magma Poetry, vol. 36, Winter 2006.