The Cord Carol Ann Duffy

(for Ella)

They cut the cord she was born with
and buried it under the tree
in the heart of the Great Forest
when she was exactly the length
of her mother's nursing elbow
to the tip of her thumb.

She learned to speak and asked them,
though she was young yet,
what the cord had looked like -
had a princess spun it
from a golden spinning wheel?
Could the cord be silver? Was it real?

Real enough and hidden
in the roots of an ancient oak,
the tangled knot of a riddle
or the weird ribbon of a gift
in a poke. As she grew, she asked again
if the cord was made of rope,

then stared from the house she lived in
across the fields to the woods
where rooks spread their pages of wings
like black unreadable books
and the wind in the grass
scribbled sentences wherever she looked.