Friday Poem

Autumn Clean-Up

There she is in her garden

bowing & dipping, reaching

stretched with her shears --

a Ceres commanding forces

no one else any more fears.

The garden's not enclosed.

It encloses her. It helps her

hold her joy. (She is

too shy for transports.)

It helps keep her whole

when grief for unchangeable reasons

waits to gnaw a tunnel in her

to run around wild in,

grinding its little teeth,

eager to begin.

from Marie Ponsot's The Bird Catcher