Tally
And then the dream was assessed
across a black-and-gold screen. It warned
not to look out at the veiled air, not
to recall the room
where she slept as a bear
came down the long dark hall.
This occurred in the retelling,
under the present image:
a smiling woman clutching her scarf
in front of blue mountains
and scant drifting clouds. It seemed
something had happened to give her joy.
In the dream, she was neither pardoned
nor included, trudging along the path,
dragging the pelt, as the young Icelandic man
pounded away at the partita, his fingers
routing the keys, hair agitated in wind.
As she reached the crest of the hill
she lay down on the stone cap
and began to hum, to tally the day
into the vertigo of the night’s cold vengeance.
Notes:
This piece is part of the portfolio “How It Continues to Astonish: The Poetry of Ann Lauterbach.” You can read the rest of the portfolio in the March 2023 issue. All poems are from Door by Ann Lauterbach, published by Penguin, and printed here with the permission of the author.
Source: Poetry (March 2023)