Julie Hanson

The Audible and the Evident


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II

       Law

       It is unconquerable; it has

       Summer Shower

       Toggle

       Re-entry

       Advent

       Dialectic and Infusion

       27 October. Dreary.

       Passage Through

       The Meeting

       Away

       The Clacklet

       The Prints from Vacation Are Back

       Daylight

       Final Moments, Summer School

       Swissed

       Trail

       III

       Accord

       The Vacuum

       A Mile In

       McCall’s 8041

       In the Garden of Dr. Sun Yat-Sen

       Of

       Early Cinematography

       But All Energy Does Go Somewhere

       Indoor Tundra

       In Which I Am Taken for a Ride

       My Lifelong Relationship with God

       My Neighbor’s Maple

       Monday

       Now

       Ocean

       Notes

       Acknowledgments

       I

       Real Life, Dear Voyeur, Real Life

      Much has kept me from my task.

      October has peaked here. To look out

      the window is to lift from the chair

      in order to get closer to those

      leaves, still shining with the drop

      in temperature, radiant with colors

      too exact and pleasing to explain.

      To look out is to leave the house

      entirely, in search of a justifiable

      chore. The garlic, for example,

      must be planted, and soon,

      lest the best of our seed cloves

      shrivel away to no better than

      dust-in-a-casing right there

      in the box. And not only that:

      we are completely out of celery!

      I tell you, real life is a pull and a lure

      and a fling-back thing, a need

      and a need and a slow-motion slide

      through all sorts of partially identified

      coming-right-at-you sudden matters.

      Some of them just plain practical

      to attend to. And then, right before

      Autumn, the yard was in Summer,

      the whole out-of-doors bobbing

      or zooming—at any rate, busy.

      I hung our laundry on the line and,

      charmed by the shape and efficiencies

      of the wooden pins, was made

      nostalgic for my own first toys.

       Mushroom on the Lawn

      What with a stem

      so short, a cap

      so long, so tall,

      so disproportionate

      and droll,

      what with it standing

      so alone on the lawn,

      small and white,

      nothing like it

      anywhere around,

      it was easy from the first

      to resist the urge

      to topple it.

      One day passed,

      and that cap

      resembled more

      a parasol

      to shelter from the sun

      someone pale

      and imaginably small,

      its silhouette

      no less storybook

      than on the day