(Anne Bradstreet—Andover, Massachusetts—Autumn, 1669)
Let the house burn again;
Already I outlive the New World,
The last dog dead, one cow
Remnant in the gleaning wind
Of leaf-fall and each child left
For elsewhere. To stay
Past those I buried; I do not know
What more to spend—
The government of man
By man brings no one home.
No longer do I want
To be upon this hill,
This place of so much wind
Where I keep writing
Past the end. I have broken
Each sentence, halved
Then half again, each word
Simpled down like old oxen
Kept as if to cover
The whole field, turn
By turn. Now the words
Come less, the clouds so fast
And not what I thought
I thought. For what
Have I survived:
To save each house,
A door sprung open, plain,
Willing each hinge
To work, verse
By verse to outlast,
Outlove whatever it is
You bring forth.
This is drawn from “Anne Bradstreet Today.”
