The swampLast night, in the rain, some of the men climbed over
the barbed-wire fence of the detention center.
In the darkness they wondered if they could do it, and
knew they had to try to do it.
In the darkness they climbed the wire, handful after
handful of barbed wire.
Even in the darkness most of them were caught and
sent back to the camp inside.
But a few are still climbing the barbed wire, or wading
through the blue swamp on the other side.
What does barbed wire feel like when you grip it, as
though it were a loaf of bread, or a pair of shoes?
What does barbed wire feel like when you grip it, as
though it were a plate and a fork, or a handful of
flowers?
What does barbed wire feel like when you grip it, as
though it were the handle of a door, working papers,
a clean sheet you want to draw over your body?
Mary Oliver (Maple Heights, Ohio, EE UU, 1935). Docente y poeta. Entre sus premios, el National Book Award y el Premio Pulitzer.