plods through new snow.
The deep tracks of her footprints
precede her. Clearly
she has walked here before,

like when she saw
the first photo of earth from space,
and she already knew
just how the planet would look,

or when she marched
in her suffragette grandmother’s
delicate boots,
her long skirt brushing the cuffs.

Out in the yard
behind the barn she is beating
the rugs on the line
with a broom. When at long last

she takes off
her rubber boots to put her feet
in a drinking trough
meant for cows, she tells herself

there are more lives than this life.
and I think I have lived them all.