You take a rock, your hand is hard.
You raise your eyes, and there's a pair
of small beloveds, caught in pails.
The monocle and eyepatch correspond.
You take a glove, your hand is soft.
The ocean floor was done
in lizardskin. Around a log or snag
the surface currents run
like lumber about a knot. A boat
is bent to sea—we favor the medium
we're in, our shape's
around us. It takes time.
At night, the bed alive, what
teller of truth could tell
the two apart? Lover, beloved,
hope is command. Your hand
is given, when you take a hand.
Heather McHugh's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Constructive by Heather McHugh )
- Let it go - time, gajanan mishra
- Last Act of Penance, Andy Caldwell
- Look At This City, Lenny Orlando Camacho
- (1) I Accept for Now, She Doesn't Love Me, Uriah Hamilton
- Versatility is a unique quality!, PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- Paper slip, hasmukh amathalal
- SHADES OF LOVE, sherif monem
- A Shoulder to Weep, Col Muhamad Khalid Khan
- Help me I am here, Dustin Hardin
- Into your kingdom, hasmukh amathalal
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)