As is the name of the earth, goes this good one.
As is the name of the molten river.
As is the name, that river goes forth.
The moon in the trees was a good moon,
The world in the sound-bite, a good world.
As in tunneling, the years went forth.
Narrow misses. Some bright star for stopping.
Madeleine gave me pomegranate seeds.
Betsey gave me strong tea with sugar.
Already we have suffered over the dropped fruit enough.
Already we have drunk the wine and suffered.
I have not yet come to a place of stopping.
You have not yet come to a place of stopping.
This is the way. Some people have hands.
Being a woman, you flow and keep.
There’s a birthing-tent waiting on the plains.
This is the way. Some people have hands.
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“Untitled” appears in To The Wren (c) 2019 by Jane Mead. The poem appears with the permission of Alice James Books. All rights reserved.