I am the man who cried out and knew,
that first day, I would stay with you,
that even my anger never stood a chance.
You were water rinsing crusted blood
from the stone altar where a chieftain
held a young boy’s heart up to the sun.
I knew I loved you, and I said so then.
But how I love you now makes that a lie.
Image: “Seeing Red” by Richard Greene, licensed under CC 2.0
Richard Hoffman: This is a poem that reflects on a long marriage. I called it a “song” because it arose all at once as a swelling of emotion just sitting in a room one evening with my spouse. Hardly any of my poems arrive that way, unbidden and entire. It is an expression of profound appreciation and gratitude. Implicit in the poem is the notion that although love changes in character over time, its intensity remains and, in fact, even grows. I have written plenty about the violence inflicted on me as a boy, but here I don’t want to translate the figures of the poem into documentary or memoir. I wrote the poem in wonder, in amazement at my good fortune to be partnered with such a strong and beautiful person.
Richard Hoffman has published four volumes of poetry, Without Paradise; Gold Star Road, winner of the Barrow Street Press Poetry Prize and the Sheila Motton Award from The New England Poetry Club; Emblem; and his latest collection Noon until Night, winner of the 2018 Massachusetts Book Award for poetry. His new collection Same War is due in spring 2023 from Lily Poetry Review Books. His other work includes the celebrated Half the House: a Memoir, published in a 20th Anniversary Edition in 2015 with an introduction by Louise DeSalvo, the 2014 memoir Love & Fury, and the story collection Interference and Other Stories. He is nonfiction editor of Solstice: A Magazine of Diverse Voices.
Latest posts by Richard Hoffman
(see all)