as if through half-light of the forest itself.
Bold sons like tall shadows around me,
each of us hastening toward the sky
as if to touch, as if to hold.
How suddenly the cutting toppled us
into a new dream! We had heard
that somehow out of us you could beget
yourselves again, so I waited
for a face and eyes, hands and a mouth
but found myself instead like this.
Four knobbed knees
and a single bent board: what was I
to do with these?
Some cruel half-image
you had made of me—
if I could not speak
or even stand, how would I bear
this shame? Nevertheless
the years went by, and hope
grew slowly, a seedling struggling
to raise its head. Every morning
I bowed down and gave
my back for your feet, until at last I shook
under the weight
and one day, lifting your children up
with my stooping body, I knew
I had become like you after all.