Two short pieces sit side by side here, and both are about loss told in a flat, almost whispered voice. The first is a diary. The speaker notes a frozen robin, a woman named Willow who was caught in the forest, a dream of sweeping a churchyard, and children playing at hunting. Nothing is explained, but the details hint at danger and death, and at people learning to live alongside it. The laugh at the end is small and a little shaky, cut short by the speaker's correction from "Grandmother" to "since she's been gone."
In "The Foot," the speaker looks back on a mother's ambition and a painful sacrifice. The imagery of the "tiny foot" suggests a beauty ideal, and the speaker's badly healed foot leaves her hobbling. The mood is bitter but restrained. The closing lines, about not being told what balance or love would require, feel both literal and heartbreaking.