Tuesday, 24 January 2012

maxine kumin

Whereof the Gift Is Small

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey

And short the season, first rubythroat
in the fading lilacs, alyssum in bloom,
a honeybee bumbling in the bleeding heart
on my gelding’s grave while beetles swarm
him underground. Wet feet, wet cuffs,
little flecks of buttercup on my sneaker toes,
bluets, violets crowding out the tufts
of rich new grass the horses nose
and nibble like sleepwalkers held fast -
brittle beauty - might this be the last?


Marion McCready said...

Love this, I recognise the name but I don't think I've really read her before

swiss said...

she was big mates with anne sexton and, if i remember correctly, may have known sylvia plath when they were students