A New Woman at Beowulf’s Funeral Pyre
(After Beowulf, for R.S.)
I, too, have been laid waste.
(That’s the etymological root
of devastation in Latin.
Though women aren’t supposed
to know such things.)
We can bear the grief of a country
if we have to,
and often we do.
I carried you,
or one like you.
A giving up is a making room.
Here on the headland
I do not steel myself.
For by this pyre,
salt wind and ashes
stirring,
I see on the horizon
a return to myself
beckoning
on the word-road.