LARDER MOUSE

We must go to Salette.

No one looks up.

The young master

has appeared then vanished

like so many times before

but now they feel his absence

in their open wounds

in the creak of the castle.

The stones will forget.

We women will not.

Ladies!

I summon Mother

when she instructs

the staff before a feast.

Betsy and Matilde

make no move,

but the younger ones

turn glassy eyes my way.

Gather cloaks and provisions—

only what we can carry.

We must reach

the convent by dusk.

Dawn is breaking.

On my own I could

make the trip in a day.

Weighed down

with so many others?

I’m not sure

we’ll make it

at all.