Jane Hirshfield Poems
|2.||A Person Protests to Fate||5/26/2015|
|5.||This Was Once a Love Poem||7/3/2015|
|6.||To Judgment: An Assay||12/2/2015|
|9.||The Heat of Autumn||1/22/2016|
|14.||A Blessing For Wedding||2/3/2015|
|17.||The Heart's Counting Knows Only One||5/23/2013|
I was walking again
in the woods,
a yellow light
was sifting all I saw.
with a cold heart,
I took a stick,
lifted it to the opposite side
of the path.
There, I said to myself,
that's done now.
Brushing one hand against the other,
to clean them
of the tiny fragments of bark.
You work with what you are given,
the red clay of grief,
the black clay of stubbornness going on after.
Clay that tastes of care or carelessness,
clay that smells of the bottoms of rivers or dust.
Each thought is a life you have lived or failed to live,
each word is a dish you have eaten or left on the table.
There are honeys so bitter