Mrs. Heldebrill
Consider how Mrs. Heldebrill
went down to the river and died,
down to the river and died.
The mice sang softly on the wet bank
to themselves, to one another and to this life
that takes so many of us
before we have begun, really.
And hardly a word was said
in the gossiping columns;
the geese worked north again
or waddled in the fat pools.
A man drew his wife to the garden;
It would be summer, you know,
In the heads of the gardens,
trees would grow dry in the basements,
kids would be swimming in the river.