April 2012 - Comments Off

Entrance

Hannah Kucharzak '13

Nevermind the origins, as they are unbeknown
to even the oracles, but who knows the rules of
divine intervention? It feels lucid yet transcendent,

talking to him, as if a film or a dream in black-and-
white. I am watching myself, this girl with her
uncontrollably young grin, she is daring, she is
lucky on the spectrum of fear. And here is this man,

his narrow fox-eyes, heavy enough to have been cast
in bronze. And she worships him as such and he probably

is. Girls learn early how to speak to older men, post-
blunder, and here are the benefits. It’s all third-person
narrative because it’s too much a dream, it’s all
subconsciously calculated, but then enter hand, one

and then two, the short fingernails, the creases and I
wonder if each is for a woman he has loved, I wonder
if metaphors carry their validity into the decade he

has on me, they must, because here is the poem,
here is the entrance into a heavenly unspoken series,
here is this man, again, here are the hands, again.

Hannah does poems.

Published by: in Poetry, Volume 68

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