Let Evening Come
I have always wanted to share these two poems with specific people, but have never dared. Maybe they will recognize themselves.
Let Evening Come
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come. -Jane Kenyon
The Moon Burgled the House . . .
The end of the worldproved to be nothing drastic
when everything was made of plastic
we slept more and more even after
the pills gave out
and vast drops of rivers ran
into the drying canyons of the sea
the sun grew pale as the moon and then
a bit paler
although we could still see--
It was pleasant; it was lovely and
languid
no one felt the urge to do anything,
even the children
we dreamed and dreamed all the cars
were parked, no one went anywhere
they just stayed home and held hands,
at first, then stopped holding hands--
peace peace just what we've wanted all
along--
the whole world turned like a
fading violet, turned in its death
gently, curled up didn't stink at
all but gave off a long sigh--sweet
sigh--
-Elizabeth Bishop
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