A Proud Woman

Stars, crisp in the deep plot pulling off, late snow clouds clean themselves The river lets loose the carp, coughs beneath its frozen part Drippings on the roof hit the gutter Ice branches ripped off in wind are waterborne In the house, a rim of cheese is quiet There is a chunk of lard to be rendered I should hang pails on the trees and wait for sugar I want to tie off the time like a bith cord chewed broken in a proud woman's teeth My navel is gone, the moon up, in a month or two my hands will be in pain Ever believe there will be someone asking something from her