Poem of the Month
On the infinite map

By Jack Hannan

Published on September 1, 2013

People came as they were, or as they wanted to be.
They thought, I am driven.
They thought, is this longing?
They thought, but this is fear. This is anger.
They sang the song called “What is love?”
They said drive, they said longing.
They said, as a matter of fact.
That could be enough of what they said.
Many were quite willing to look at people
just the way they hoped to be perceived,
at least in the beginning. Others, of course, were surveyors,
little Freuds and Jungs and Mortimer Adlers.
There were also times
we would look at others through the lens of our own hopes,
as though just their appearance was all the answer we really needed.

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Postscript(s)

The fall of ’47 I was 25 and still living in Viluta. What made me stay so long? What made me linger in that nothing place, that hamlet of ten houses?

The Kingdom Is

The kingdom is up to you. Like the manette the cashier hands you at the grocer’s — “your turn”; “c'est à vous.”

Song of the Canister’s Contents

After we thinned out we joined clouds
darkening cleared land and then
we were the shadows of those clouds
crossing open heaths.