As for her, the circumstances must be ordinary
And so the return. Door unlocked. The path mowed
Right to the oiled gate; the pasture
Cleared of stone and alder. All untouched
Enough to enter. The man or woman
Off down the valley or working above
Treeline. No other sound but a few strays
Hurrying through the dusk as if the end
Will begin, certain and with nothing
More to say. She does not know she does not know.
Having come back to find her kind
And none being left she took herself up
Into a tree unclear what to do next save only
Sing the song she wanted sung back to her.
Source: Poetry (May 2011).
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This poem originally appeared in the May 2011 issue of Poetry magazine
Poems by Sophie Cabot Black