East of Eden

I am tired of tidings, tired of linings, silver,
lead. For a little while, let it be the mundane
that stretches as far as the eye can see.

Give me the field of goldenrod nothing dates:
no architecture, no infrastructure. No burn off.
This time, if something must smolder

in the distance, let it be the sun. If something
must change, let it alter by pattern or else
so slowly no one thinks to call it news. This field—

keep us out of it, the tells of our haircuts, the cuts
of our clothes. For a little white, do not admit
even the ghost of a nightgown to dry on a line.

Jane Zwart teaches at Calvin University, where she also co-directs the Calvin Center for Faith & Writing. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, The Southern Review, Threepenny Review, HAD, and Ploughshares, and her first collection of poems is coming out with Orison Books in fall 2025.

Published January 15 2025