Exiles Poem by Marilyn Hacker
Exiles
Her brown falcon perches above the sink
as steaming water forks over my hands.
Below the wrists they shrivel and turn pink.
I am in exile in my own land.
Her half-grown cats scuffle across the floor
trailing a slime of blood from where they fed.
I lock the door. They claw under the door.
I am an exile in my own bed.
Her spotted mongrel, bristling with red mange,
sleeps on the threshold of the Third Street bar
where I drink brandy as the couples change.
I am in exile where my neighbors are.
On the pavement, cans of ashes burn.
Her green lizard scuttles from the light
around torn cardboard charred to glowing fern.
I am in exile in my own sight.
Her blond child sits on the stoop when I come
back at night. Cold hands, blue lids; we both
need sleep. She tells me she is going to die.
I am in exile in my own youth.
Lady of distances, this fire, this water,
this earth makes sanctuary where I stand.
Call of your animals and your blond daughter,
I am in exile in my own hands.
Marilyn, why does this poem seem like one Hopper would have written if he couldn't paint? Brilliant! Many thanks. Mike
I am in exile where my neighbors are Nice work. Thanks for sharing.10 points.
She has woven another masterpiece out of heartache, loneliness, gray gray times of the soul.
'' I am in exile in my own hands. '' Sono in esilio nelle mie stesse mani.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/17/2024 7:23:01 PM # 1.0.0.1119
'' Her brown falcon perches above the sink as steaming water forks over my hands. Below the wrists they shrivel and turn pink. I am in exile in my own land. '' - In Italian: Il suo falco bruno si posa sopra il lavandino mentre il vapor acqueo si biforca sopra le mie mani. Al di sotto dei polsi la pelle avvizzisce e si tinge di rosa. Sono in esilio nella mia stessa terra.