Elizabeth Wing

The Anchoress Asks for a Change of Clothes

If we are born damned            what do we do with the bay trees?

With the nuts we slip from their green skulls like the squirrels do –

Please. A piece of muslin. A new cotton shift. Maybe a hairshirt still shining with goat-grease.

What do we do with the monarchs      clustering like airy embers in the eucalyptus?

What do we do with their doomed courage    their migration?

A bit of wool to pull down around the neck   and up around the ears when the drafts blow through the chinks of the anchorhold.

If we were born damned what do we do with the yellow brush of

wild mustard across the field?                With the handful of hazelnuts, small as planets?

Something  lined with rabbit fur.            Not a veil a little thinner, but a blanket a little thicker.

Elizabeth Wing is a writer and trail worker based in Portland, Oregon. Her work has appeared in 7×7, Hanging Loose Magazine, The West Marin Review, and other venues.

Elizabeth Wing

The Anchoress Asks for a Change of Clothes

If we are born damned            what do we do with the bay trees?

With the nuts we slip from their green skulls like the squirrels do –

Please. A piece of muslin. A new cotton shift. Maybe a hairshirt still shining with goat-grease.

What do we do with the monarchs      clustering like airy embers in the eucalyptus?

What do we do with their doomed courage    their migration?

A bit of wool to pull down around the neck   and up around the ears when the drafts blow through the chinks of the anchorhold.

If we were born damned what do we do with the yellow brush of

wild mustard across the field?                With the handful of hazelnuts, small as planets?

Something  lined with rabbit fur.            Not a veil a little thinner, but a blanket a little thicker.

Elizabeth Wing is a writer and trail worker based in Portland, Oregon. Her work has appeared in 7×7, Hanging Loose Magazine, The West Marin Review, and other venues.

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