Snails circle
A shed where a child was born.
She bled into straw—
Who can write this?
Under Arcturus,
Rubble of light:
We have no words
For what is happening—
Still language endures
Celan said
As he stood in a torn
Green coat
Shivering a little,
In a night theater, in Bremen.
Copyright © 2012 by Meena Alexander. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on December 14, 2012. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.