Poem – When the Field finally called my Name
When the Field Finally Called My Name
For years I walked at the edges of things—the quiet person,
the one who learned to fold himself
into smaller and smaller shapes,
as if absence were a kind of safety.
I knew the feel of vanishing:
the chest gone soft,
the voice retreating,
the earth beneath my feet
holding me without my knowing it.
There was a season when the world grew large around me
and I grew small inside it,
like a stone dropped into tall grass—still present,
but unseen even by myself.
But one morning,
in a wind that carried the scent of rain,
I felt something shift— a subtle widening beneath my ribs,
a lifting in the spine,
a whisper from the ground saying,
You belong, too.
I stood there as light came through the trees
in thin, forgiving lines,
and realised the forest
had never once asked me
to shrink.
And in that small re-inhabiting,
I felt the world turn toward me—
not because I demanded it,
but because I had finally
turned toward myself.
Now, when the wind moves the grass,
I remember the long years of hiding,
and the moment the field
finally called my name.
And I stepped forward—
no longer the outline of a man,
but the whole of one.
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