Ballad of the Walking Woman
Roving warp of remember,
raveled weft of forget,
this burden I've carried, the burden
I set at the roadside each nightfall
that's left to me. Cleft from me.
Waking, I'll sing it behind me,
what's left of me. Walking, I'll sing it
away into nothing. Into nothing
I'll carry it up the mountain
and back. Each day that turns me
returns me to my burden,
the nothing that he left me to carry.
New England Review Volume 33, Number 4 / 2013
Volume 33, Number 4 / 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Debra Allbery
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission