Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Windows Make Shadows

Windows Make Shadows

Windows make shadows
of windows and shadows

of the rooms they belong
to. The two cats belong

to their window, directly
across the street, directly

at eye level with me while
I put on my sweater. While

I feed one arm into a sleeve,
they watch. I dangle the sleeve,

four yellow eyes swivel
in the dark, dart and swivel,

billiard balls with black cores.
No human home, apple cores

and lipstick-spotted coffee cup
and fitted sheet refusing to cup

the corner of the mattress. No
lady over there, just here, no

figure in the mirror, just this body,
and the mirror’s slouching body.

5 comments:

  1. Awesome identity rhymes and use of varied meaning.

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  2. It's like every suspense movie rolled into one ... a glitch in the matrix! You not only master the form, you wrest from it a doppleganger persona that makes it eerie as fuck.

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  3. Love this...I thought you were in my room for a second : )

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  4. Cats BELONGING to their window . . . feeding one arm into a sleeve--terrific images, ways of seeing, Hannah.

    I've never seen a poem using that kind of line-end repetition as a governing form. Did you invent it? You've made it work with surprising naturalness.

    I like this one a lot, though it feels like one of your darker ones.

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