Field

2023 A bumpy plain that gets under your nails. Before they started collecting, they stood across from each other, scared, waiting to see what would or wouldn’t happen. Their throats tightened, they didn’t greet one another, and instead stared at the ground. The muddy field shifted in the meantime; gloves on sweaty hands made holding the empty buckets uncomfortable. The collectors stood over the furrowed trench, glancing around. They weren’t the only ones whose insides churned at the thought of a family gathering. Other groups gathered at their assigned rows of potatoes, and under the overcast sky, a spiral of fake laughter rose from each corner. Without eye contact, they knew it was time to crouch down, as families competed to fill sacks faster. Mud clung to their fingers, and with every new stab into the soil, they dug into each other as well. “Relax, we’re in the field… here, everything gets buried.”