Poem of the Week: “Hip” by Tom French


For Fiona

When, as if to plant some shoot,
you scoop a handful of earth
from the earth itself and then,
instead of rearranging roots

and tamping down earth about them
in their bed, you slip your hip
into that delved-out space
and settle there and sleep,

I know when I hold that tidy heap
your hip displaces in the hollow
of my hand, I want, when all of this
is finished, my clay hand to be

resting on your clay hip, on your skin
to be left the impress my kiss leaves
on this small mound of earth, and me
to be trickling through your fingers

as through my fingers now your hip-
clay trickles back into earth.

Tom French is a poet and librarian living in County Meath, Ireland. His most recent collection, Midnightstown, came out in 2014. You can follow him on Twitter @tomasofrinseach.


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