• 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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