Mother into Child

Around a magic ring of apple pie,

we conjured up old days; and even you,

who seemed to guard the past, redeemed a child

who out-talked goose and gossip farms around,

and walked the fence-rails daring into doom

all foolish sisters' feet. The boys for miles

of first and second cousins dared not kiss

hawberry lips to market, for the thorns.

Last year when I was home I dreamed you died;

and lay awake for half the dark, a stone

in throat and chest. Inside and out was strange.

The houses faced the other way. The lights

burned down. For miles of town and country miles,

fences hung, uprooted in the air,

their bare posts dangling, legs that waltz the skies.

This too is change: the counted-on turned odd,

the moon upon its back, but with less pain.

The fences stand; the houses know their way;

though on the rails a girl in pig-tails runs,

bewildering half the boundaries of the world.