Sestina

September rain falls on the house. In the failing light, the old grandmother sits in the corner, beside the child, beside the child. Each evening she leans in with her fingers, stroking the linen and she counts it, feeling the balance, crants in and out, remembering the places she once held, and this time, again and again, the quick weft of family and fauna will fall into place, as the page bounds out to touch the silence.

• Elizabeth Bishop

• Elizabeth Bishop