michael hogan (July 14,1943 / Newport, Rhode Island)
There is much to recommend
staying where you are. Local
knowledge is the truest kind.
But the suitcase is in my closet once again.
The streets cough up a language
my dog can't comprehend.
These moves choose me like love.
Or when love dies but clings
until I cut the white bars of skin
against the sharpest rock I find
to crawl newborn in the sun.
Staying where you are
you can still be startled in small ways:
the August lightning, an implausible death,
a glance in the bathroom mirror from a graceless angle.
But to move again!
The brain patterns itself and strains;
synapses brighten, then dim.
The rabbit heart beats wildly
in its tough tortoise skin.
michael hogan's Other Poems
- 2380 Market Street
- A Name
- And the Livin' Is Easy
- Another Reason For Loving Mothers
- April in Mexico
- Arizona Moon
- Before the Monsoon Rain
- Bob Dylan Returns to Guadalajara
- Christmas Morning in Providencia
- Dear One
- Dog Days
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.