In the beginning I fed the hen, the goat.
At the end, I fed the ant my frayed skin.
In between the beginning and the end,
I sat at the table, waited for the dust
To disappear from my plate and fork.
Now, in a time of memory, I need to find
The ant whose mother ate my frayed skin.
For I lost, you know, the hen and the goat
And all birds that flew upward into the sky.
Though in a dream of heavy snow, my body
But a bowl. I gather what must be gathered:
The grief of barren rooms, barren barns.
Till a snow woman, I spill over, drop
After drop of me weeping into the earth.