QUINCES

July ripens and swells.

Did it happen? It was a dream.

Quinces are yellowing among the stars

like Saturn’s moons.

What will happen next? Whirlwinds

of opaque stellar dust.

But the branches will not break,

and quinces will still hang.

They will drop. All winter long

the snow will melt on them.

Fragrant and invisible mist

will rise towards the sky.

Up there in unreachable branches,

dizzied by the aroma,

the bird will sit on her eggs in a nest

padded with quince blossoms.

___

VILLAGER

I’ll pull weeds. I’ll pick the ground clean.

I’ll swing the scythe. I’ll lug water.

I’ll tend a vineyard. I’ll make brandy.

I’ll praise saints and ancestors.

Every morning and evening

I’ll walk the nanny goat to the billy goat.

But if the barn owl has foretold

that my home will fall to ruin, so be it.

___

FIRST STEPS

We will learn to walk,

mother.

We will learn to walk.

Now, when

walnut leaves

rain upon

the potato field

and the frog

with its turquoise back

jumps

through the autumn

canyons.

Now. Now

we’ll learn to walk.

The Lord is good.

You will get on your feet.

Without any help,

you will go there:

To the hearth.

To the well.

To the string of onions.

To the jars of jam.

To the barrel.

To the garden beds.

To my father’s grave.

To my grandfather’s grave.

To the bed of leeks.

To the bed of cabbage.

To the Milky Way.