What is it about windblown
that we find so enticingly romantic The public library lawn is dense with bodies, reading, sprawling, naked There is sun, once more returned and we, creatures of the north, rejoice A dog large enough to be a hairy horse shakes under the sprinkler rain Children of it-doesn't-matter-whom shriek wild with water, with grass underfoot I can feel each blade imprinting my belly in the flagrant space where my shirt rumpled up A man I have met once before appears stepping closer into my nearsight with hello He works for the radio I learn and immediately all I can hear is the voice As if tuning in from some other place the children and sprinkler and wind as static copyright 2016, Sarah Hirsch. |
Writing, writingA blog of mostly poems, some prose. Recent works will be added to the top, and older pieces are backdated. Please write me a note if you have any questions, etc! Archives
October 2017
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All works are original and copyright Sarah Hirsch, 2017. Please contact me directly if you would like permission to use any images or words. Thank you!
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