A poem by Valarie Hastings
The lamps on the bridge over the Navesink tonight
want to be remembered by water. The same way music
vibrates in the four-and-a-half-inch space between
rib bone and what we might call the soul,
in a thrum, then gone. Springsteen
has a house somewhere
along the banks of this river
which is not a river at all, but
an estuary, hulls of light casting,
arc-lamping, stop and go green, red warningsÂ
for the vessels that plough this black night water
beneath the bridge,
beyond my work hotel window.
What a beautiful word, vessel.
I am the vessel of my child, he of me, my mother
of me. Light carries the vessel of what remains
when the body is gone.
Hear Valarie read her poem:
Valarie Hastings is the 2020 winner of the Kowit Poetry Prize and was a finalist for the 2023 Laura Boss prize. Her first collection of poetry, Searching for Dandelion Greens, came out in 2021with Garden Oak Pres. She currently serves as Director of Judges for the Kowit Prize.
Image: Anthony Cantin
Spectacular images!!!
Light carries the vessel of what remains / when the body is gone. Beautiful image.
This poem, which carries so much light, really speaks to me. Lovely!
I read everything Jean graciously puts up. The poetry nourishes me so much. Thank you Valerie for taking the time to share your obvious gift. Sincerely, Susannah Bianchi