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lrperry's picture

Stepping Westward

Denise Levertov, Stepping Westward

What is green in me

darkens, muscadine.

 

If woman is inconstant,

good, I am faithful to

 

ebb and flow, I fall

in season and now

 

is a time of ripening.

If her part

 

is to be true,

a north star,

 

good, I hold steady

in the black sky

 

and vanish by day,

yet burn there

 

in blue or above

quilts of cloud.

 

There is no savor

more sweet, more salt

 

than to be glad to be

what, woman,

 

and who, myself,

I am, a shadow

 

that grows longer as the sun

moves, drawn out

 

on a thread of wonder.

If I bear burdens

 

they begin to be remembered

as gifts, goods, a basket

 

of bread that hurts

my shoulders but closes me

 

in fragrance. I can

eat as I go.

 

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