On the Fourth Day

Heather McHugh

Spring 2018

Suddenly everything
Stayed the same.

We who had called
The water blue

Refocused on our lenses.
We who had seen the island move

Reunderstood our oars. The sand
Composed some drumlins in the sound

So we revised the sky. And whether we felt fog or not,
The sun still burned alive. Arose, along the tide-lines,

Ever un-updated news. (Some news was not
Of men.) A day and a night were number five

And suddenly nothing changed again.

Heather McHugh lives on the Olympic Peninsula. She taught at the University of Washington for thirty years, and continues to take students occasionally through the MFA program at Warren Wilson College in Asheville, North Carolina.

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