Beth Bachmann


Because of the struggle,

                                            her arms and legs resisting,


you might take one look at the shape in the snow and say,


swan or angel,

                            something to do with the divine, the light,


always, bending back.

                                              Or you might remember the way


a girl’s tongue razes ice or catches the root of the word


muse: an open mouth,  

                                        a muzzle.



“Erato” first appeared in American Poetry Review, 37:2.