Thursday, November 25, 2010

With Love

With Love

Is my wallet in my bag. Will I remember it in the morning.

How much change do I have. Enough for the bus, for laundry later.
Are Canadian quarters mixed in. What did I do with the Japanese change.

I don’t need it, but should I try to find it. Should I get up
and look in my jewelry box, in my suitcase, my house dark
and neighbors all asleep, inserted into their beds like chargers
jabbed in the jugulars of cell phones.

Is that a spider vein, under my left eye.
Do we get those on our faces. Is it a broken blood vessel.

Did I shut the window in the living room.
I remember my hand around the crank. Was that yesterday.

What day is tomorrow. How is the week almost over.
How. And the year.

What if we alternated how we measured years.
December our new January. May reinvented as halfway.
Could we slow it. Or introduce sanctioned unpredictability
into our diets.

Did I pay my library fine
before moving last year. Did I give back that book
someone had lent me. Wasn’t it autographed.
It was, a black-markered message, With Love.
I did. Return it.

The tires need more air.
We need a new spare. When should I buy it.
Is my car clawing at the hole in the ozone layer.
Is it efficient.

Leave it nicer than when you first moved in,
or leave it just as it was when you found it.
Which is more possible.


  1. yes. you have done this well, with love. i enjoy the tossing around it does.

  2. LOVE this. (Makes me want to write a list. And stack something up.)

  3. Wonderful poem, Hannah.

    Happy Thanksgiving!

  4. Hi Hannah,
    I enjoyed the ruminations, and the almost stream of concsiousness effect. I loved it all, but the last stanza says a lot about leaving a place behind.


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