Hush

by Jude Goodwin
The Waters
First Place, November 2010
Judged by Paul Lisicky


When the rains come
there’ll be pumpkins
rotting in the garden
and bargain store spider webs
heavy on the leafless sumac
and when the darkness humps the grasses,
clumps along the concrete walk
there’ll be poppies
bleeding onto stone,
there’ll be old voices
reading the names.
When the cold grows bold
there’ll be death
in every window box –

and love strokes me,
love says shush.
When the supper’s done
there’ll be a fireside
and strings drawn
from a wooden box,
and love
says hush.


The music, the line breaks, the evocative description: everything in sync here. --Paul Lisicky

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