Tuesday, May 15, 2012



Once, we suspected there was
undiscovered land, but did not

know how much, or where.
Did people live there, spears

and the heavy skins of beasts
we had not seen. What might

they want, that we could offer
them in exchange for their homes

and vegetables and plants and
ways. Gold coins, and medicine,

and gunpowder. We packed
goods without knowing who

we would give them to, hands,
disembodied, reaching out

from the mist. It would be easier
if they were friendly, if we

could tell them our intentions
for them, to find them, to name

them and make them matter,
to live with them and learn

about the land so we’d know how
to take it and turn it into home.


  1. To think 2 tons of glass and 420 hours went into that art installation; it's an amazing piece.

  2. Yeah, the dominant class is pretty clueless, as you slyly suggest. Fortunately the savages had already gotten the memo.

    BTW that installation is a total antidote to the Whitney Biennial.

  3. I love this poem and I think I see a connection in the shattered glass of that image. Good one Hannah.


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