Like primitives we buried the cat with his bowl. Bare-handed we scraped sand and gravel back into the hole. They fell with a hiss and thud on his side, on his long red fur, the white feathers between his toes, and his long, not to say aquiline, nose. We stood and brushed each other off. There are sorrows keener than these. Silent the rest of the day, we worked, ate, stared, and slept. It stormed all night; now it clears, and a robin burbles from a dripping bush like the neighbor who means well but always says the wrong thing.
from Otherwise: New & Selected Poems, 1996
Graywolf Press, St. Paul, Minnesota
Copyright 1996 by the Estate of Jane Kenyon.
All rights reserved.
Reprinted by permission of Graywolf Press. Copyright 1996 by the Estate of Jane Kenyon. For further permissions information, contact Graywolf Press, 2402 University Ave. Ste. 203, St Paul, MN 55114. www.graywolfpress.org
Jane Kenyon (1947-1995), former Poet Laureate of New Hampshire, was the author of four volumes of poetry. Her collected poems were published by Graywolf Press in 2007.