Hello, Trevor,
There’s an intriguing meditation here on the long and complex relationship between humans and wheat. I can sense a powerful poem taking shape beneath the surface of these musings.
That said, I think the poem might benefit from a bit more focus, fewer generalities, and some reorganization. At times, it feels like it's skating over big ideas without anchoring them in specific, vivid moments. The closing stanza, for example, is conceptually interesting, but it leans toward telling rather than showing.
Just to illustrate the kind of tightening and reordering that might help clarify the arc, here’s a possible revision sketch based on what’s already here:
Once a slender face in the crowd
of countless stems waltzing in the wind,
a wild grass enamoured farmers
on a modest patch of the Middle East.
Enslaved, they levered weeds from soil,
plucked mucky stones from dead gestation.
Their shallow canals abolished its thirst,
and fences foiled fugitive rabbits.
Inheriting hernias and slipped discs,
the cold crippling of arthritis
punctuated the bones of those
who tended fields until their bodies failed.
They traded a life on foot to settle,
to stay put and roam their meadows,
mastering wheat with baskets and blades,
blind to how it mastered them.
This version aims to foreground the historical progression and ironies more clearly while maintaining your overall voice and tone.
Hope you find something useful heres!
Cheers,
…Alex
Threaded Mode
