What I wanted
wasn’t to let in the wetness.
That can be mopped.
Nor the cold.
There are blankets.
What I wanted was
the siren, the thunder, the neighbor,
the fireworks, the dog’s bark.
Which of them didn’t matter?
Yes, this world is perfect,
all things as they are.
But I wanted
not to be
the one sleeping soundly, on a soft pillow,
clean sheets untroubled,
dreaming there still might be time,
while this everywhere crying
_______________________
From The Asking by Jane Hirshfield. Copyright © 2023 by Jane Hirshfield. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC, New York. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
