Jul 2013
The war was everywhere,
not just in the desert
where we expected it to be.
One night I heard the war in the wall
behind my head—
an animal with thick skin-wings
beating another toothy beast,
claws hitting fur, wood, flesh.
I asked my neighbor later
what it had been like to be alive
before a time of war,
and he said it was funny we even
have a word for it, because
everything that’s alive
stays that way by tearing
heat from another’s belly.
by Hannah Gamble
not just in the desert
where we expected it to be.
One night I heard the war in the wall
behind my head—
an animal with thick skin-wings
beating another toothy beast,
claws hitting fur, wood, flesh.
I asked my neighbor later
what it had been like to be alive
before a time of war,
and he said it was funny we even
have a word for it, because
everything that’s alive
stays that way by tearing
heat from another’s belly.
by Hannah Gamble
This poem is written by Hannah Gamble. I am posting poems that I find especially wonderful, by poets who strike me with that..."instant perfection of poetic familiarity." What makes a wonderful poem that speaks to us? Is it the poet and their physical form? It does make a difference to me what the poet looks like. Even still, even if I like their face, I might not like their poem, but I am more apt to read them. Sympathetic energy.
