THE  DEATH 

My poor mother lay picking the bedclothes 
and a dog was howling in the yard: 

we heard her name called three times 
and a door opened and shut by itself: 

we laid her on the floor to lessen her woe 
and a mouse squeaked . . . but she died all 
         the same. 

Then we opened all the windows 
and untied all the knots, 

covered the looking-glass 
and told the bees, 

put out the fire 
and rang a bell six times . . 

My lover took his hand from his pocket 
and I was sobbing when he led me away.

                              (1945)