ours poetica
Ruth Awad reads "Once All the Hounds Had Been Called Home" by Meg Day
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View count: | 2,363 |
Likes: | 225 |
Comments: | 8 |
Duration: | 01:51 |
Uploaded: | 2022-01-28 |
Last sync: | 2024-10-25 23:30 |
Ruth Awad (she/her/hers) reads the poem, "Once All the Hounds Had Been Called Home" by Meg Day.
Ruth Awad:
https://twitter.com/RuthAwad
https://instagram.com/magpieheart
https://ruthawadpoetry.com
Brought to you by Complexly, The Poetry Foundation, and curators Charlotte Abotsi and Sarah Kay. Learn more: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/
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#poetry #ourspoetica #RuthAwad
Ruth Awad:
https://twitter.com/RuthAwad
https://instagram.com/magpieheart
https://ruthawadpoetry.com
Brought to you by Complexly, The Poetry Foundation, and curators Charlotte Abotsi and Sarah Kay. Learn more: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/
11 issues of Poetry, subscribe today for $20: https://poetrymagazine.org/OursPoetica
Follow us elsewhere for the full Ours Poetica experience:
https://twitter.com/ourspoeticashow
https://instagram.com/ourspoeticashow
#poetry #ourspoetica #RuthAwad
Hi, I'm Ruth Awad.
I'm going to read Meg Day's poem, "Once All the Hounds Had Been Called Home." I chose this poem because... it's a banger! It's one of my all-time favorite poems.
I hope you like it, too. When the grapevine had thinned but not broken & the worst was yet to come of winter snow, I tracked my treed heart to the high boughs of a quaking aspen & shot it down. If love comes fast, let her be a bullet & not a barking dog; let my heart say, as that trigger’s pulled, Are all wonders small?
Otherwise, let love be a woman of gunpowder & lead; let her arrive a brass angel, a dark powdered comet whose mercy is dense as the fishing sinker that pulleys the moon, even when it is heavy with milk. I shot my heart & turned myself in to wild kindness, left the road to my coffin that seemed also to include my carrying it & walked back along the trampled brush I remembered only as a blur of hot breath & a howling in my chest.
I'm going to read Meg Day's poem, "Once All the Hounds Had Been Called Home." I chose this poem because... it's a banger! It's one of my all-time favorite poems.
I hope you like it, too. When the grapevine had thinned but not broken & the worst was yet to come of winter snow, I tracked my treed heart to the high boughs of a quaking aspen & shot it down. If love comes fast, let her be a bullet & not a barking dog; let my heart say, as that trigger’s pulled, Are all wonders small?
Otherwise, let love be a woman of gunpowder & lead; let her arrive a brass angel, a dark powdered comet whose mercy is dense as the fishing sinker that pulleys the moon, even when it is heavy with milk. I shot my heart & turned myself in to wild kindness, left the road to my coffin that seemed also to include my carrying it & walked back along the trampled brush I remembered only as a blur of hot breath & a howling in my chest.