Faithful and Virtuous Night

by Louise Glück

You had been with me— there was a dent in the second pillowcase. We had escaped from death— or was this the view from the precipice?

staring at the ceiling—never my favorite part of the room. It reminded me of what I couldn’t see, the sky obviously,

I continued staring at the dog’s frantic reunions with the yellow ball, an object soon to be replaced

How old he seemed, older than this morning.

You have no idea how shocking it is to a small child when something continuous stops.

If I could speak, what would I have said?

It had occurred to me that all human beings are divided into those who wish to move forward and those who wish to go back.

The dogs were sleeping at her feet where time was also sleeping, calm and unmoving as in all photographs.

Mother died last night, Mother who never dies.

out of the box comes a little ballerina made of wood. I have created this, the man thinks; though she can only whirl in place, still she is a dancer of some kind, not simply a block of wood.