Passage

                             We are willed to find a young girl

                             heavy with child.  She may have

                             fallen to the floor.  She may have

                             wandered into a field.  She may have

                             found her way into a modern home with

                             dust and pet hair under the furniture.

                             This native girl spent her adolescence

                             making small baskets out of reeds,

                             thinking falsely that no mystery

                             could ever fall between the tight spaces

                             of these ancient weavings.  Still, wind

                             and host and friend will gather by her side. 

                             She will not know where to hide them,

                             nor the angels for the long, long ride. 

                             If they arrive, she will be exhausted

                             by the journey.  She will thirst for home

                             water, she will hunger for ripe figs.

                             Cold straw, loosened by a gasp in the field, 

                             will buffet her gaze, will suffer her

                             the scratches of many uncomfortable questions
                             and pain.  In her hand, she will squeeze a small feeble

                             candle relished for its sanctity.  She will wield a

                             small knife to rid a ripened pear of its wounds

                             and then give thanks.  She will bathe

                             and soon find a heap of dark water and wanton 

                             red stains pooling around the bottom.  When she is

                             finished, she will dry herself faintly, rub the scent

                             of sleep into her hair and elbows and heels.  She will

                             assemble her brush and robe and a travel blanket

                             containing her child.  She will fade over the hills

                             under a dazzle of nightly stars with the hope of

                             something more to follow.