For Maggie Finch, April 20, 1921 – January 14, 2018

I dreamed we were walking in fields that were green— all
the heartbreaking — beauty — of green — rearranging —
surrounded by men — were you mother, or sister? —

Our wrists roped together — our shaven heads — hanging —
We’ve loved through that bowing-down grass— (its long whisper—)
its — seed-heavy singing— or clanging, or changing —

Through so many lives — Now you’re hearing Her call
Again — through the musk and the smoke — as I blister —
And bend —through the hope — of these embers — and crawl

First published in American Poetry Review