Josephine Jacobsen(1908–2003)

The Primer

I said in my youth

"they lie to children

but it is not so.

Mother my goose1 I know

told me the truth.

I remember that treetop minute.

That was a baby is a w o m a n now;

in a rough wind, it was a broken bough

brought down the cradle with the baby in it.

I had a dumpy friend (you would not know his name,

though he indeed had several), after his fall

lay in live pieces by my garden wall

in a vain tide of epaulets and manes.

I had another friend (and you would know her name),

took up her candle on her way to bed.

She had a steady hand and a yellow head

up the tall stairwell, but the chopper came.

So small they meant to run away, from sightless eyes

three mice ran toward my mind instead;

I seized the shapely knife. They fled

in scarlet haste, the blind and tailless mice.

Cock robin was three birds of a single feather.

Three times cock robin fell w h e n a breeze blew;

eye of fly watched; arrow of sparrow flew:

three times cock robin died in the same weather.

Sheep, cows, meander in the corn and meadow;

soundless the horn, fine, fine my seam;

nothing I feed, but rosy grows my cream.

My blue boy sleeps under the stack's huge shadow.