Allegory for the polyutopia

by Kate Feld

This field of mine is my own beloved land which requires careful tending. All manner of seeds blow in from the wider world to root in my earth – here there are notably rich soils and a good, open aspect– and I must examine each plant closely. When young they’re hard to identify, as they have not yet developed many features and characteristics. I kneel quietly by each, looking, thinking, what is beginning to grow here, in the sun of attention, in the water of interaction? The good, life-giving plants will be cultivated – given what they need to thrive, and there’s work in determining that, too.

Things will tell you what they are in time, if you listen. Not all of the plants borne here by the wind are good and life-giving. Sometimes the identifying features of a poisonous plant or an invasive weed aren’t visible until they reach a later stage of growth, and so I will have cultivated them for some time when I notice the telltale characteristics of their species. And then the subject of my care shifts, from this individual plant to the field that I am – because, for the good of my land, this plant cannot grow here. I must kill it. I love the work of cultivation and I am proud of my skill, so the transition from cultivator to destroyer is difficult for me. And the work of destruction, even in the service of my own spirit, does not come naturally. Sometimes the roots of a bad plant have sunk deep and I must labor hard to pull them up and ache for days afterwards.

I dream as I work in this field, and the dream grows and dies with the plant. Sometimes I imagine that a new plant is the seedling of a wonderful tree that will be growing here in many years, a testament to my tending, and it will nurture me in turn with its shade, with its shelter, companionship and deep presence. It’s true that there is no shade in this field – what is so open is also exposed to sun and weather. If I could just have one tree, this dream teases me, maybe I wouldn’t even need a field. Maybe I could live in the tree and let the rest of the place run wild. Sometimes I dream that tree so real that I can hear the song of the wind in its leaves. But my people left the forest. Long ago they came down from their trees and settled here on the open lands, where one can see far. I lie in my field and I am content. All day I have the clouds and at night I have the stars.

Kate Feld is the author of the poetry and photography pamphlet Deeryard (Death of Workers Whilst Building Skyscrapers, 2024). Her writing has appeared in anthologies and journals including The Stinging Fly, Hotel, The Letters Page and Tolka. She lives in Ramsbottom, UK.