Solitary woman

Close was enough, but any closer,
More than you could bear.
Seated inside,

Eating, I, a sometime talker often
Struck dumb, glimpsed you
And shuddered,

Considering the glory of your estate:
To wait always hungrily
At the Great Door.

If one had kept you under a gentle
Thumb when you were younger,
If one had not

Let you taste of the bruised black
Radishes dabbled in shoyu
And attar of sesame,

If one had not at first unfolded, then
Pulled out from under you
The Khalabar,

It would have been different. As it was,
Glancing inside, you paused,
Sensing the threshold.

So it was not without forbearance,
Refusing to be admitted
You had come.

Yaddo, 1971

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Topics: Poetry

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