Little Chapel

By RICHIE HOFMANN

 

How do I know

this stark room, the wooden chair,

the antique book in its lap,

the drawers lined with cedar,

the two folded shirts, his and mine,

the map of the Mediterranean World

in a frame, its sea faded turquoise?

Have you come here too?

Is this a place you recognize?

 

Richie Hofmann is the recipient of a 2012 Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship. His poems appear or are forthcoming in The New Yorker, Poetry, The Kenyon Review, and Ploughshares, among other journals. 

Listen to Richie Hofmann and Katherine Robinson discuss “Little Chapel” on our Contributors in Conversation podcast.

[Click here to purchase your copy of Issue 07]

Little Chapel

Related Posts

Image of a red sunset

Around Sunset

JAMES RICHARDSON
The days seem kindlier near sunset, easier / when they are softly falling away / with that feeling of sad happiness / that we call moved, moved that we are moved / and maybe imagining in the dimming / all over town.

A bar lightbulb shining in the dark.

Black-Out Baby

JULIET S. K. KONO 
Somewea in Colorado. / One nite, one woman wen go into layba / wen was real hot unda the black-out lite. / Into this dark-kine time, one baby wuz born. / Da baby was me. One black-out baby— / nosing aroun in the dark / wid heavy kine eyes, / and a “yellow-belly."

Matthew Lippman

Was to Get It

MATTHEW LIPPMAN
I tried to get in touch with my inner knowledge. / Turns out I have no inner knowledge. / I used to think I did. / Could sit on a rock contemplating the frog, the river, the rotisserie chicken / and know that everything is connected to everything else.