We wandered through my grandfather’s house
sorting plates and twigs
and throwing pebbles out the window.
In the yard, swifts tangled in our hair
and we couldn’t find our way back.

We met two women coming back from a wedding,
one in a beaded vest. They gave us a glass of wine
and for years we quarreled about recipes.

We followed the wide path out of town
and found our own house blackened.

In a clearing between two birches
were our broken pots and mildewed clothes
and I wept for the things grown old without me.