Волны

           SleepIsing--I,whoamunmelodiousandhearnomusicsaverusticmusicwhenadogbarks,abelltinkles,orwheelscrunchuponthegravel.Isingmysongbythefirelikeanoldshellmurmuringonthebeach.Sleep,sleep,Isay,warningoffwithmyvoiceallwhorattlemilk-cans,fireatrooks,shootrabbits,orinanywaybringtheshockofdestructionnearthiswickercradle,ladenwithsoftlimbs,curledunderapinkcoverlet.

           ’Ihavelostmyindifference,myblankeyes,mypear-shapedeyesthatsawtotheroot.IamnolongerJanuary,Mayoranyotherseason,butamallspuntoafinethreadroundthecradle,wrappinginacocoonmadeofmyownbloodthedelicatelimbsofmybaby.Sleep,Isay,andfeelwithinmeuprushsomewilder,darkerviolence,sothatIwouldfelldownwithoneblowanyintruder,anysnatcher,whoshouldbreakintothisroomandwakethesleeper.

           ’Ipadaboutthehousealldaylonginapronandslippers,likemymotherwhodiedofcancer.Whetheritissummer,whetheritiswinter,Inolongerknowbythemoorgrass,andtheheathflower;onlybythesteamonthewindow-pane,orthefrostonthewindow-pane.Whenthelarkpeelshighhisringofsoundanditfallsthroughtheairlikeanappleparing,Istoop;Ifeedmybaby.I,whousedtowalkthroughbeechwoodsnotingthejay’sfeatherturningblueasitfalls,pasttheshepherdandthetramp,whostaredatthewomansquattedbesideatiltedcartinaditch,gofromroomtoroomwithaduster.