Monday, October 12, 2020

Louise Glück / All Hallows

Illustration by Triunfo Arciniegas

All Hallows

by Louise Glück


Louise Glück / Todos los Santos

Even now this landscape is assembling.

The hills darken. The oxen

sleep in their blue yoke,

the fields having been

picked clean, the sheaves

bound evenly and piled at the roadside

among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:


This is the barrenness

of harvest or pestilence.

And the wife leaning out the window

with her hand extended, as in payment,

and the seeds

distinct, gold, calling

Come here

Come here, little one


And the soul creeps out of the tree.




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