Tuesday, September 4, 2012

All Things in Their Place

All Things in Their Place

All the places that sprawl and thrive
without your supervision, without you,

you cannot count them, but you can
know they are there. The bookstore

crowded with jewel-toned stalagmites,
striped on one side with pale yellow,

the pages. The seawall you would walk
along, the school on the right, the park

where owners would unclip the leashes
from their dogs so they could run

with other dogs, panting and snorting
with dog-laughter. The cubbyholes

and mailboxes that have held your
name, your pens and letters and bills,

your coffee shop, your corner store,
the rocks above the beach gone slick

and green, the ones you’d slide
your eyes over on your way home.

That arched gray door, spray-painted
one morning with a pink, drippy heart,

above which, the next week, someone
added, “Your,” and the next day,

no words, only a gray door. Now, still
gray, and passers by and traffic flowing

past it easily, like every person driving
past Dealey Plaza, heading to work.


  1. I enjoyed this, particularly the dogs, which reminded me of the groups of dogs I frequently see by the river, all so happy to meet each other,,,

  2. Oh, that ending sent a shiver down my spine.

  3. One of your best, Hannah. These very specific memory associations are universalised here as symbols of each and every one of our own personal touchstones. One of poetry's prime tasks: enabling the reader to extrapolate from the single and particular into the mighty shared. I love this.

  4. This is lovely Hannah...glad I found the time to visit. I love the opening lines mostly because when I walk and look at places I always wonder about who was there before...I find it strange...


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