Thursday, November 6, 2014



How do I make that which is not yet real
We do it every day In the trunk of my car
there are dried leaves fallen weeks ago
I chauffeur them around the city and deposit
them accidentally in a grocery store parking lot
thirty minutes away Here’s where they end up
for now Here’s where we part ways Whatever
fate we administer suppose we allow it entrance
into the self Maybe I can love that which
has sent me sailing from my branch

1 comment

  1. Hannah--Sometimes your poem lights up for me the moment I read it. And sometimes, like this one, it simmers for a bit first. I've been thinking of this poem since yesterday morning--it's wonderful. I love how you take that image we know so well--of leaves tracked into the car--and transform it


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