Autumn 2022

an excerpt from
Antipastoral: This Green and Pleasant Land

by Ariana N Benson

I have no wonder left for petrichor.

No heart to marvel at osmanthus, 
sumac. My eye idles in the grass 
of your sprawling country
-scapes, glazed with matte patina.      

In your pristine pastoral, God 
lords above a lea of moaning cattle. 
If men walk here, none notice the irony 
of His painting the cows 
both black and white at once.

But I am meant to swoon 
at the sight of water
-lilies, of quail pecking 
at blackberries the same way 
boar revel in the lush 
throat of a kill.

Never mind the fireflies 
that have all but gone.  

Never mind who once blistered 
on this green and pleasant land.

There’s nothing you can tell me about beauty.