Magazine article World Literature Today


Magazine article World Literature Today


Article excerpt

There is no album for these, no white script on black

paper, no dates stamped in a border, no sleeve, no fire,

no one has written on the back from left to right.

Your hair has not yet fallen out nor grown back-

girl walking toward you out of childhood

not yet herself, having not yet learned to recite

before others, and who would never wish to stand

on a lighted proscenium, even in a darkened house,

but would rather dig a hole in a field and cover herself

with barn wood, earth and hay, to be as quiet as plums turning.

There is no calendar, no month, no locket, but your name

is called and called in the early storm. No one finds

you no one ever finds you. Not in a small grave

dug by a child as a hiding place, nor years

later in the ship's hold, not in the shelter, nor high

on the roof as the man beside you leapt, not

in a basket crossing a vineyard, nor in a convent

kitchen on the last night, as a saint soon to be

murdered told you how to live your life,

never found you walking in the ruins of the blown

barracks, wading in the flooded camp, taking cover

in the machinist's shop, or lighting every votive

in the Cathedral of St. …

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