Lorine Niedecker

[He Lived-Childhood Summers]

He lived—childhood summers
   thru bare feet
then years of money’s lack
   and heat
 
beside the river—out of flood
   came his wood, dog,
woman, lost her, daughter—
   prologue
 
to planting trees. He buried carp
   beneath the rose
where grass—still
   the marsh rail goes.
 
To bankers on high land
   he opened his wine tank.
He wished his only daughter
   to work in the bank
 
but he’d given her a source
   to sustain her—
a weedy speech,
   a marshy retainer.
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