Let me leave my words
on the street to raise themselves.
Let them ferment like fallen fruit—
let the rats get drunk on them,
let them scatter.
Carve my name on the ice of a river;
watch while it melts—let it be
carried to the sea and join the currents.
Let me bury my memories just before
the water breeches the levee.
Let the coffins be unearthed in the flood.
Let my immortality be quiet, insidious.
The past strolls down a path, whistling, hands in pockets. Before she moved, our
neighbor mixed her husband’s ashes with those from his dogs, and wove them through
the alleys behind our houses. He had always sat on his front porch, drink in hand,
shouting at passers-by. He was part of the air, become part of the earth. The wife who
left became ghost.
Danielle Hanson strives to create and facilitate wonder. She is author of Fraying Edge of Sky and Ambushing Water. Her poetry was the basis for a puppet show at the Center for Puppetry Arts. She is Marketing Director for Sundress Publications, and serves on their Editorial Board. Previously, she has been Artist-in-Residence at Arts Beacon, Writer-in-Residence for Georgia Writers, and Poetry Editor for Doubleback Books. She teaches poetry at UC Irvine. More at daniellejhanson.com.