for the fog horn when there is no fog :: sarah hannah

Some poetry hits you hard. This is one of those poems.

Reading @nprscottsimon’s tweets from his mother’s bedside somehow brought these words to mind. So good to find them on wordpress. The poet Sarah Hannah, whose words these are, was Sarah Goldstein in High School, when I knew her well.

poetry

Still sounding in full sun past the jetty,
While low tide waves lap trinkets at your feet,

And you skip across dried trident trails,
Fling weeds, and do not think of worry.

For the horn that blares although you call it stubborn,
In error, out of place. For the ridicule endured,

And the continuance.
You can count out your beloved – crustaceans –

Winking in spray, still breathing in the wake,
Beneath the hooking flights of gulls,

Through the horn’s threnody.
Count them now among the moving. They are.

For weathervane and almanac, ephemeris and augur,
Blameless seer versed in bones, entrails, landed shells.

For everything that tries to counsel vigilance:
The surly sullen bell, before the going,

The warning that reiterates across
The water: there might someday be fog

(They will be lost), there might very well
Be fog someday, and you will have nothing

But remembrance, and you…

View original post 7 more words

About Josh Davis

Josh is an employment lawyer, law teacher, blogger and radio commentator.
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