It hovers in dark corners
before the lights are turned on,
it shakes sleep from its eyes
and drops from mushroom gills,
it explodes in the starry heads
of dandelions turned sages,
it sticks to the wings of green angels
that sail from the tops of maples.
It sprouts in each occluded eye
of the many-eyed potato,
it lives in each earthworm segment
it is the motion that runs
from the eyes to the tail of a dog,
it is the mouth that inflates the lungs
of the child that has just been born.
It is the singular gift
we cannot destroy in ourselves,
the argument that refutes death,
the genius that invents the future,
all we know of God.
It is the serum which makes us swear
not to betray one another;
it is in this poem, trying to speak.
“Hope” by Lisel Mueller from Alive Together. © Louisiana State University Press, 1996.
I learned early on
that the vulnerability of
putting words on a page
. . .even if that page
from the bottom of a dirty waste paper can
is not just merely
p o e t r y
but . .
H O P E
at its best
. . .even if it’s just because of the vast amount of critics
WE ARE ALL POETS
No blank page is ever really needed
to write a poem
. . .P O E T R Y
P O E T R Y
. . .hence:
And for all of the
N O T S
The holy common
Y E T
e x p e r i e n c e d
h o p e
H O P E
. . .it is in the poem trying to speak