Vigil

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).

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