Archive for January, 2010

Revelations: Only Five of Twenty-five or More

The first time I meet Annie
I bartered for a place in her class,
relief for the soles/souls of her feet,
my reflexology exchanged for reflective writing.

I had an adorable childhood
which means I should never be able to write,
but I am also stubborn

I often wish people would disappear
when what they say and how they say it
annoys me.

I ran away from home at 1 ½
and have been looking for
the way home ever since.

I bought a computer with company funds
hoping to learn which cords plugged into which slots –
unforgettable the dread that night
the long sweep of being found out –
before my 10-year-old came
to save me and my job
that morning in 1978.


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Hole of Whole

Hole of Whole

Inside essential memory
images persist
some harmony
by you
by me
inside desire
retired sensation
as two once one lost
the internal memory of self.

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Time Beyond the Fall Line

“I know it seems sudden but it’s not,”
her message loops and spools,
pauses only to loop again.
“I know it seems sudden but it’s not.”

How can she imagine he will feel her desire
For separation, to be gone, is sudden?
He’s known for days, or months, or
these minutes, time-trapped years.

His fingers grasp, clasp steam, a mug
holding warmth leaking through—.
emptiness an inch away—
Her warmth once electrified his hands
flooded through the whole of him
and her too – true, he knew.

He’d hold this surety,
the incontrovertible fact
of moment after moment
her presence the vibrant hum.

He knows that nothing about them
was ever sudden — each move
so slow, intentional, each word baked fresh,
morsel upon morsel of momentum, magnifying
fine, drawing two near, forever nearer.

Perhaps there had been one time —
a sudden flare in the dark, 
that hillside in the silence of what was parked,
the streaming whistle pushing into night,
long shrill call lumbering across a trestle,
high above swift currents
spilling over granite
smoothing eons on the way
rolling past the fall-line of all
they left behind.

Still he hears that rumble,
engagement pulling low, the load
the groan of steel and wood above
the stone, water rushing on and on,
like her voice, repetitious tone,
now gone from those years,
that day as well and this.

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dissolving in the face

 of light

showing off


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elephants gathered

        wade round fresh water puddles

thick with waiting

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your feet upon
the desk. All neat, no work
going on just now. Relaxing,
and why not take a break,
waiting for me
to say








time’s come for you
to start yourself without
my directing any more. If
you push back, stand up
I’ll choose praise in



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–preparing for breakfast 
a daily affair
loving the beginning
 — again,

 — for this fresh minute–


©all rights reserved Jane Penland Hoover

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