For Sylvia Twenty-Seven in July

You’re three and I can see you you have run away
………… Across the park you turned once….. first you ran
………… Fifteen or twenty steps or only ten
Laughing then turned to make….. sure I was watching you

Still in the boxed-in….. park in the empty park in….. Salem where
………… We live….. except for some tall evergreens
………… With wide and bare trunks….. near the library
And then you ran until you were half-hidden….. far-

ther….. you’re hiding behind a tree….. I see your arm
………… The branches meet above your head in the branches
………… And part in sudden gusts….. you shout Come find me
You’re three you’re young enough….. to go and not be gone

Shane McCrae

Shane McCrae

Shane McCrae’s most recent books are Sometimes I Never Suffered, a finalist for the Maya Angelou Book Award, the T. S. Eliot Prize, and the Rilke Prize, and Cain Named the Animal, both published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux. He has received a Lannan Literary Award, a Whiting Writer’s Award, an Anisfield-Wolf Book Award, a Pushcart Prize, and fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. He lives in New York City and teaches at Columbia University.
Shane McCrae

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Author: Shane McCrae

Shane McCrae’s most recent books are Sometimes I Never Suffered, a finalist for the Maya Angelou Book Award, the T. S. Eliot Prize, and the Rilke Prize, and Cain Named the Animal, both published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux. He has received a Lannan Literary Award, a Whiting Writer’s Award, an Anisfield-Wolf Book Award, a Pushcart Prize, and fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. He lives in New York City and teaches at Columbia University.