“Divide anew this once-divided flesh Into twelve shares of mercy and on each Bestow a fair and succourable child, Yet, in full summer, when the ripened stalks Bow in the wind like golden-headed men, Under the sun, the shares will reunite Into unmerciful and childless love.”

She thought again, “No, it’s not that, it’s not that, I love my child with an L because he’s little, I love my child with an S because he’s strong, With an M because he’s mine. But I’m restless now. We cut the heart on the tree but the bark’s grown back there. I’ve got my half of the dime but I want his. The winter-sleep is over.”