SOPHIE CABOT BLACK
Perhaps she called out for him to undo
What was around her. Or he found himself
Cutting the relentless into smaller, into
Meaning, into weight. What begins the fall;
Who first saw the path made clear, each tool
Practiced in the dark or the last space left
Which could open enough. Did she climb
Out over his dusty and fearful hand,
Or did he pull her from the still place,
The ache until one caught against the other.
Piece by piece was recognized. Beauty
As the way through. But what is done to the stone
Is also the stone. How much does he take
Before we can no longer bear to look.
92 The Paris-American
Sophie Cabot Black has three poetry collections from Graywolf Press, The Misunderstanding of Nature, (Norma Farber First Book Award) and The Descent, (2005 Connecticut Book Award) and The Exchange (2013). Most recently, she taught at Columbia University.
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