by Frances Hatfield

From across the far meadow
whoo, who-whoo
murmurs through the glass of sleep
and the moonlight of this world
spills through the blind,
pooling all around me
on the cloud-white bed.

Who sleeps
through all my daylight hours
dreaming I am awake?
Who wakes now, trembling
at my heart’s open gate?

In my dream, a woman pointed
to the calf who had been chosen.
I see her standing
in her circle of dust,
yoked to her stake
of birth and circumstance.

It’s too hard, I told her,
the sudden knife in my hand
gleaming strange
Here, she said,
showing me where to plunge the blade.

Then I am shown
what would unfurl
(If only I could bear
the dying)—
Its dark bearing radiance
its silence,

(from Parabola Magazine)

About Frances Hatfield

Frances Hatfield is an advanced candidate at the C. G. Jung Institute in San Francisco. Her work has been published in Parabola, Quarry West, the Monterey Bay Anthology of Poetry, and Numinous. Her first book of poems, Rudiments of Flight, came out in October, 2012 from Wings Press. Correspondence: 340 Soquel Ave., Suite 104, Santa Cruz, CA 95060.

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