Two Poems by Hannah VanderHart

By Hannah VanderHart

Flourish, Fall 2011


of material objects:
children, cats,

of portions of space:
‘see the lytel pearl
in the oyster’s grey mouth’

of smallness,
of opposition to greatness,

even a great thing

little rock by the sea,
little edge it keeps,
parapet in a child’s castle

how you resist the fury
of the waves,
little body

used to designate animals
and vegetable varieties
in a genus shared

by larger beings:
little egret, little owl,
little daisy (‘daysye’)

in collocation:
little brother, younger,
endearment implied.

A crow flying in the winter sky.


Who am I and what does it mean to have
no ear to hear the bells with, and yet to nod

at morning, evening, noon—as though we are
responsive to each other, smooth and stable

in our movements. Even the trees tremble
at such assumptions of the turning world

and spirit; five crows in a lawn this morning,
I can be like them, dark and picking at the earth,

ever after sustenance, shining feathers driven
by subsistence, never knowing what will make

them fly again, but black eyes all aware.


Poet Hannah VanderhartHannah VanderHart lives by the Severn River in Annapolis, MD. She has her MFA from George Mason University, and is currently a graduate student at Georgetown University in Washington, DC, where she is a second-year fellow at The Lannan Center for Poetics and Social Practice. She has poetry published and forthcoming in Rock & Sling, 1110, the St Katherine Review, Prick of the Spindle, and elsewhere.

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