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We believed we knew what made us look up
From the embers. And had been trying
To remember, gathering there. Some of us
Could no longer breathe; some of us
Talked too much or too fast, asked
Too many questions; some not enough.
We stood, and watched our shadows lengthen
As if nothing more was owed. How long had we listened
To the agent, to each other, thinking
We were full of choice. Stake by stake, plot
By plot; the sum would never run out.
My animals, your animals;
My barn, your barn; we were never ready
To know the herd. Each coming from somewhere else
Fills in until whatever might be missing
Does not easily fit. And so the field
Becomes the shape the market requires,
And to set fire before heading on
Is also to say it does not matter
Which part is played
But that it gets played. We move faster at the end
Understanding we cannot survive
Our own boundary. Tired of being told we are
How we chose, now too much to own; tired
Of the neighbor behind each door, unsure
Of what is said. To bear the far
Now close; to inherit what we did not make
And now must pay for, finished with doing what we need
To get what we want, knowing
It only begins later, after we tell the story;
How blade by blade the grass returns,
Under rut or drought, cut or torn, under light
That cannot keep to itself, and the wheel
Notches again to the top. Any one of us
Can climb down. And whoever checks the axle
And the bolt, only tightens what will again loosen.
~~~~~

Sophie Cabot Black grew up on a small farm in New England. She has three poetry collections, The Misunderstanding of Nature, which received the Poetry Society of America’s First Book Award, The Descent, which received the 2005 Connecticut Book Award, and The Exchange, which NPR calls “the book for you”. Her poetry has appeared in numerous magazines, including The Atlantic Monthly, The New Republic, The New Yorker, and The Paris Review.
Copyright 2024 Sophie Cabot Black. From Geometry of the Restless Herd (Graywolf, 2024). Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
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“We believed we knew . . . ” says it all.
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“blade by blade the grass returns” beauty and meaning
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I love her work.
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I do too.
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Understanding we cannot survive our own boundary…
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A profound ambiguity makes each line echo for me.
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This poem speaks for most of us in these days of anxiety, hoarding hope where we can find it. Not knowing which way to go, but go we must. Learning to work together is difficult but essential. The herd gets a negative connotation we need to get over. And one turn of a loose screw is not enough. Entropy pulls things apart. We bond them together again, when we learn how.
Thanks for this splendid reminder of where we are.
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Thanks, Jim.
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Brilliant.
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Yes, brilliant. Original language. Compelling argument.
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