Bess

Ours are the streets where Bess first met her

cancer. She went to work every day past the

secure houses. At her job in the library

she arranged better and better flowers, and when

students asked for books her hand went out

to help. In the last year of her life

she had to keep her friends from knowing

how happy they were. She listened while they

complained about food or work or the weather.

And the great national events danced

their grotesque, fake importance. Always

Pain moved where she moved. She walked

ahead; it came. She hid; it found her.

No one ever served another so truly;

no enemy ever meant so strong a hate.

It was almost as if there was no room

left for her on earth. But she remembered

where joy used to live. She straightened its flowers;

she did not weep when she passed its houses;

and when finally she pulled into a tiny corner

and slipped from pain, her hand opened

again, and the streets opened, and she wished all well.