In her own words...
"Bridge, Moon, Professor, Shoes"
Slept dreams, they say, take just a few seconds
no matter how long they are. Or how far
I walked on that bridge of spider silk
with the moon beside me like a friend.
Her light trapped us in a radiance of bliss so
pure, hours weren't hours, or minutes minutes
as we passed my old lecture hall, its professor
stopping in the middle of his question: "Can
someone here tell me — ?" to stare at us as we
floated along, my insouciance blurring a little
with a sense of guilt. Had I a right to this?
Could such joy be mine for free? If I had
a purpose — say, shoes. Find shoes. On earth
we don't walk on air — not like this windless
void riding underfoot, its force backing me
into the immensities, their black nowhere.
Such bouncing's tiresome. Where's the bliss?
The moon reaches for my arm. I jerk away.
What a pie-face she is in her chalky pallor.
Why did that professor turn his back on me?
Oh, if I find shoes (size seven) they won't be
on too soon to get me home, home home.
About this work
An excerpt from this poem was included in "Poet’s Choice by Edward Hirsch (review of A Table of Content),” Washington Post, July 4, 2004, p. BW12, and in Poet’s Choice, Edward Hirsch, ed. New York: Harcourt, Inc., 2006, p. 301.