Dispatches from the Millay Colony

Edna in Autumn

Those brazen nights before the Fish

rose numbly from the sea,

before the fires of summer died—

remember them to me.

I wanted to believe that love

could ripen without rotting,

and candle-yellow evenings

would not burn down to nothing.

Tonight I sit in supper-robe

before an empty plate;

I’ve eaten but I am not full.

The room is dark. I wait.

photographs: gate, Edna's writing cabin at Steepletop