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Brian McCabe

Not One but Another


As when a truck rolls past the house and you look

up. Thrushes, the soft pacing of someone preparing

to leave. A number of things you hear

before you see. For a while everything is green

expanse. Moments plunge into air and air.


Sometimes I think the things I say

are what you think. Sometimes the things you think

I mean, I don’t. Wanted you to wake in a room

on cool pale sheets and be what’s missing.

For light to fall through tall pines, jagged leaves,


to a square of dust on hardwood. The thunder

already a memory: rain on the roof

was sitcom applause, you dressed in dark cloth.

With each day’s arrival your life was becoming

something far off, drawn close.

Not One but Another Brian McCabe
00:00 / 01:22

Brian McCabe was born in New Haven, Connecticut. He lives in New York City, where he teaches high school English. His poems can be found in Harbor Review, Random Sample, Broadkill Review, and Counterclock, among others.

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