The Shells. As the tide rises, tiny shells. There is nothing. Someone sits quietly. At dusk she gets dressed,. No one ever talks to her.
Creating venues for poetry in support of healthy ocean communities
And before we start dreaming. Imagine the feel of their huge backs rubbing against our pale feet, as they move on through the night. It was there, I realize, that I lost the leather jacket that seemed to make me interesting, those slick boots whose heels won me arguments, that hat that made my long hair flow like potency itself, while I moaned the blues like a field hand and headed reluctantly off to my day-job delivering flowers to secretaries screwed by their bosses and housewives screwed by the suburbs. So I sit here naked as a chicken leg steaming on a dinner plate, a man sliding free of his sleeping bag naked as an earthworm, who stands now and walks through the trees looking for a path to the picnic and wondering whether that whispering in the distance is a waterfall or just another ravenous machine. View more information. Two Poems by Michael Hettich. March 7, A new book, To Start an Orchard , which includes the poems published here, is forthcoming from Press He has published poems and essays in many journals and anthologies. Read poetry by Michael Hettich previously appearing in Terrain.
He has published over a dozen books and chapbooks of poetry, and his work has appeared widely in journals and anthologies. Michael Hettich has written, with extraordinary empathy, a book about vanishment: of dreams and fathers, of love and animals and birds. Look carefully at the glinting lights he paints.
Mathews : Hi, Michael. Thanks for taking time to talk a little about your poem in Tampa Review How did you first become acquainted with it? Hettich : Thank you, Richard, for your kind words. As far as my acquaintance with the tree and its fruit. As with so much of the flora here in the subtropics, the tree amazes me for the wonderful smell of its blossoms and for its fecundity, to say nothing of its delicious fruit. For someone born and raised in the North, the pure generosity of such richness is constantly surprising, interesting, and even faintly haunting. In the North, as we all know, the fecund magic of the natural world draws into itself and sleeps for half the year.