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Her version, with interuptions

Once she stole a boat—is this how it started

at night to bring the pond a gift—

it was a bird of salt— which was taken into its reflection.

But the pond is not the sea. This is where you lived.

The lesson of dissolve—but it was a bird—sifted

to the bottom of all her actions. Is this the start

of us? How she traveled to the sea—will you

is not open for discussion.

She went back for the worst winter—the worst

winter in years— and took him—this is where

to see how the pond—embodied by cold— ended

in an edge of ice on the sand. She knew it would be foolish

to go out on the ice. But she did. And he followed.

They started. They started to see the crack rising

between them. Meaning nothing—meaning

something must still be living underneath.

from AwaywardFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2009
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

Published in Jennifer Kronovet Poems

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