a day overdetermined by Americans.
Marilyn Hacker

West. The direction of oblivion. Water
throwing itself down, banging

the strand. And remember, when you do
the thing you want to

you may hurt some one. Here
a breast, and beneath it a heart
beating, and here a hand--like mine

it wants to do only good--and now what is that
sound? The contralto

of someone sobbing.
And then there are
the poor, for whom we have orchestrated
a hell of their own. Anyone can see
their brief children, falling onto the water, flakes

of snow. Everything
is given. Everything
is taken away. Here is the body

in which we are solitary, and here
the sea, undulant
territory without a floor
or ceiling, and

here its unleashed edge, beating down the door

of sand. For these reasons
I reach across the cups, the plates, the napkins,
and take hold of your hand.

Marilyn Krysl has published seven books of poetry, three of stories, work in The Atlantic, The Nation, The New Republic and other journals, in Best American Short Stories 2000, O. Henry Prize Stories, and the Pushcart Prize Anthology. She is former Director of the Creative Writing Program at the University of Colorado, Boulder, and a founding editor of the literary journal Many Mountains Moving. She has taught ESL in the People's Republic of China, served as Artist in Residence at the Center for Human Caring in Denver, worked as a volunteer for Peace Brigade International in Sri Lanka, and volunteered at the Kalighat Home for the Destitute and Dying administered by Mother Teresa's Sisters of Charity in Calcutta. She currently volunteers with Sudanese immigrants.