Randall Jarrell

Did they send me away from my cat and my
To a doctor who poked me and counted my teeth,
To a line on a plain, to a stove in a tent
Did I nod in the flies of the schools

Moving from Cheer to Joy, from Joy to All,
I take a
And add it to my wild rice, my Cornish game hens
The slacked or shorted, basketed,

Each day brings its toad, each night its dragon
Der heilige Hieronymus—his lion is at the zoo—Listens, listens
All the long, soft, summer
Dreams affright his couch, the deep boils like a pot

At the back of the houses there is the wood
While there is a leaf of summer left, the
Makes sounds I can put somewhere in my song,
Has paths I can walk, when I wake, to

The saris go by me from the embassies
Cloth from the moon
Cloth from another planet
They look back at the leopard like the leopard

It was not dying: everybody died
It was not dying: we had died before In the routine crashes— and our fields Called up the papers, wrote home to our folks,
And the rates rose, all because of us
We died on the wrong page of the almanac,

Looking back in my mind I can see The white sun like a tin plate Over the wooden turning of the weeds;
The street jerking —a wet swing— To end by the wall the children sang
The thin grass by the girls' door,
Trodden on, straggling, ...