Linda Hogan Poems

Sometimes the way to milk and honey is through the body.
Sometimes the way in is a song.
But there are three ways in the world: dangerous, wounding,
and beauty.
...

There is nothing more innocent
than the still-unformed creature I find beneath soil,
neither of us knowing what it will become
...

The weight of a man on a woman
is like falling into the river without drowning.

Above, the world is burning and fighting.
Lost worlds flow through others.
...

In the dark evening, my father and I
walk down the road to the old house
where my grandmother lived,
and we see through the door an old woman's feet
...

When the body wishes to speak, she will
reach into the night and pull back the rapture of  this growing root
which has little faith in the other planets of the universe, knowing
only one, by the bulbs of the feet, their branching of toes.
...

First
there was some other order of things
never spoken
but in dreams of darkest creation.
...

This is the word that is always bleeding.
You didn't think this
until your country changes and when it thunders
you search your own body
...

We had been together so very long,
you willing to swim with me
just last month, myself merely small
in the ocean of splendor and light,
...

I am always watching
the single heron at its place
alone at water, its open eye,
one leg lifted
...

How something is made flesh
no one can say. The buffalo soup
becomes a woman
who sings every day to her horses
...