Punishment

Seamus Heaney's "Punishment"

I can feel the tug of the halter,
at the nape of her neck,
the wind on her naked front,
it blows her nipples to amber beads,
it snakes the frail rigging of her ribs,
the weighing stone.
I can see her drowned body in the bog,
under which at first she was a barked sapling,
that is dug up oak bone firkin,
her shaved head,
her noose a ring,
to store the memories of love little adultress,
before they punished you.

-Punishment