Some koi live for two hundred years
by Hannah VanderHart
The holy outweighs the weight of unholiness, which I sometimes doubt is an actual substance and come to think of it, I often side with Aquinas: evil (now we are slightly changing subjects) is an absence of existence, no, that is wrong, evil is a failure to exist like the eye, have you seen the eye when it fails, when sight fails it is failing to exist.
How do you know you even know the essence of a single fly? I know you are bored if I threaten to call the planet holy but there you have it, I’m beginning to think the divide I have seen flickering sometimes flickering like two roads was a structure lovingly created and tended by me: that wall that division and rusty facade and now it’s breaking down, and everything glimmers green like the copper statue of the girl reading a book by the library’s koi pond, her head bowed the patina shining in the open air and sun.
About the Author
Hannah VanderHart lives by the Severn River in Annapolis, MD. She is a graduate fellow at Georgetown University, where she works with the Lannan Center for Poetics and Social Practice. She has poetry published across the US, to include Prick of the Spindle, Rock & Sling, Measure, and also in the UK
Image
From a photograph by Sora Sagano (Unsplash).
