The Buried Woman
There was rain in the air
and humming in the ground.
I knelt and looked straight
into her face. With the earth
on her fingers and the spade
across her shoulder she led me
through the start of the rain
into the house.
Mumbling followed and a rummaging
with cooking utensils. No, I have nothing
to eat, but plenty of pots and pans
for when it rains and a shoe and a chicken
that sometimes lays an egg, somewhere.
When everything has been carefully arranged
and not a drop falls on the floor any more
she sinks down on the bed and, humming
all the while, builds a new hole
in between snores she sings a little
my husband left me his left shoe
I did not bear a son
whom it fits.