Tuesday, August 6, 2013



This is about looking
at trees and fog,

looking out at mossy-green water,

looking at the red-haired
detective with a tree
for a last name
looking out at the water
or gray city.

There is a city
within the city.

There are so many trees.

Often, we see our detective
from behind, looking

at what she is looking at
without earning her thoughts.

What she knows:
if you don’t do something,
no one else will.

People are dead and girls are gone
and we know it.

Tucked in within us all,

shadowed cities,
we have to look.

We give ourselves away
in pieces, hunting love.


  1. We watch this, almost addicted to it. It's fascinating to see it as the subject of a poem, but it really is almost as much poem--a very visual poem--as narrative. For people who don't know the show, I wonder if it would be wise to work in her gender earlier. Although things are changing, happily, I bet most of us don't think "female" when we hear the word "detective." Good for you, seeing poetry in a TV show (though it is of course no ordinary TV show).

    (I finally got to Berryman's #45. Holy cow. I'll have to go back to it a few times, but thanks again).

  2. Tucked in within us all,


    I love that passage. Beautiful. Thank you Hannah.


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