A Poem by Jane Kenyon

Because it is Election Day. And because in my family we are still waiting, midwives to sorrow. Jane Kenyon herself, died too young, but left behind shreds of beauty and we find this here:

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the bar, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to it sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to the air in the lung,
let evening come.

Let it come as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

Barn at Dusk, Kathy Los-Rathburn