Urn

Her brow and knees,
her brain

and womb and ruined heart,
her bowing arm,

and breasts that fed
no one, the foot that hurt,

the cheek
her father struck,

all burned
together: soot, light snow

the spring that she
was born.

Copyright © 2004 Frannie Lindsay All rights reserved
from Where She Always Was
Utah State University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission