A DIARY

Today is cold, but there is no wind. I found a robin redbreast, frozen, by the water. It made me sadder than usual.

They caught Willow, in the forest. She had gone early, to pick new blossoms. People get careless; people forget so soon.

I dreamed I swept the churchyard, brushed the pebbles into piles. There were no candles anymore.

The children were playing at hunting in the spring meadow this morning– stalking one another,

smelling, tasting the windy air. It felt good to laugh again– the first time since Grandmother– since she’s been gone.

THE FOOT

It came to nothing– Mother’s ambition, my sacrifice.

I always knew that she was the one– everything they look for– that hair, those eyes, the tiny foot.

Mine healed badly. I shall always hobble.

No one ever told me what was required for balance, what was required for love.