Tag Archives: Seph Hamilton

Nativity

by Seph Hamilton


I laid my hands on the back of the truth
As it passed like some tempered beast,
Bristling coarse under my palms, grafted
To its densely-charged spine, ribs tight,
Each hot-blooded lungful saged and singed.

Satiated, the creature rose on two feet,
Inheriting my image as a child would.
Inside, I align my eyes to its sockets,
Fold my nerves into its ample might.
Tendon and gristle, I take my first steps.

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Ode To A Small Town Attorney

by Seph Hamilton


A keepsake, the way this man says
Someone’s been after my chir’ren
Into candlestick telephone,
Worry shuttering behind round,
Tortoise-shell specs.
It makes the finch perched late
Within me stir, animate.
The tips of its soft, feathered wings
Blanching my insides. I swell.

My chir’ren.

I would rock steady on the porch
For hours, through the dim night
To know his sure, quiet steps did
Distill once again the easy glow
Of the house, standing certain
Amidst chary, wind-blown
Swinging, wooden benches, and
The mangled, uncertain danger
That does roll through Macomb.

Making Breakfast

by Seph Hamilton


Pressed my ear to backyard soil, and
Thought to dig my way to some place
Beads are made, or prayers are dance
For years now, but lately, a new itch:

Eager to tuck my pressed shirt in, and
Toast dawn sidewalk with dress shoe
After I do bless my halcyon, ivy-strung
Address, where Paul Varjak snoozes.

To part the reeds of yesterday’s fruitage
And make way for happy invention, and
Paul, in our seven-blocks-away kitchen
Dons clean apron, wields slotted spoon.

Hours yield magic unearthed after all,
Bread proven and ripe-pocketed.
I hike to my Paul, throwing verve from
My swift steps to the mirrored towers

Just to meet my own image with joy
In that I am homeward boundless,
And through my treasured door I will
Pass into soft-lit, matte-finish Eden.

To Be Paul

by Seph Hamilton


Blond and sooty New York City son
I’m fixed uniquely to the tawny thread
From which your rugged tapestry is spun
I unstitched your constitution ‘cross the bed
To try you on would be no carnal deed
I bear your costume stretched across my back
I’ll dress my shoulders in your wrinkled tweed
Dig your dimes to pay for coffee (black)
Sensitive and Bookishly I wink
Between lumbar and belt-loops her eyes drop
A woman who is pearled and all in pink
While I’m pitched over at the jewelry shop
Now I’ll seam you back together two by two
I tapped your wingtips down 5th Avenue