In summer, I was redolent; in winter
I ate carefully from stores of water
and fat down in the cool cellar. Each
round of yarn that passed through
the hook, each heart-root planted
in the dark, reminded me of the more
difficult work to come: what to do
or say that will roll back the stone
from the mouth of the cave; how to offer
the ache in the side to the salt of the day.
In response to small stone (225).