Poetry at Sangam



THE WIND’S DAUGHTER by George Szirtes

The wind’s daughter went to see the doctor.
I’m worried about my mother, she said. A gale
was blowing down the street and leaves sailed
past the enormous window. Pools of water
trembled. There is no easy cure for nature,
said the doctor. The wind bloweth where
it listeth
. See, he said, the very air
in this room is in motion like a creature
glancing and fled
. The wind’s daughter sighed.
But mother is blowing away, I’ve sen her flailing
in a gust. Her ears are stopped, her eyes failing.
She’s been that way since my late father died.

Then she’s the gale outside, the doctor said
and those blown leaves are dancing for the dead.