Issue 32: David Hadbawnik

5 Sonnets

Is there is there a moral to the is

there is there is a moral to the story

when we left dark it was there a story

waiting to be dragged behind there is a

there where the story ended we traced our

steps back to discover what was buried

in the moral was the story long since

anyone felt confident in what had

been telling who told beneath where it was

when we unearthed the story you always

did have a memory for details is

the moral of the story not having

answered and thinking of that right before

bed is there a moral or a story

Maybe it didn’t happen that way maybe

we didn’t see what we saw the blood smeared

on the windshield as a hawk shoots across

the blue sky forget that black ice on the

road the car swerves the glass spiderwebs then

smooths out again it wasn’t blood it was

gas at impact the whole thing blows she pats

him on the back the girl watering the

flowers hears the shot drops the pitcher which

shatters on the floor they kiss one last time

she collapses in his arms the phone rings

we can’t believe we didn’t see what

we thought we saw a man lying in bed

falling out of a stiff dream

I can’t have been the only one to judge

that once love splits like an egg like a sponge

that melts in your hands we must try to turn

to lift as we fall downstairs trembling to

yell into a fist our judgment having

once tasted each other we felt we saw

and years later the sun crashed into a

sense of having to piss real bad but the

pit of one’s stomach to swing from the doom

the decision to leave the pass broken

up the rush going the other way does

anyone still remember or care does

it matter he said thinking of all those

times another stood by watching it go

The moment the moment came it kept going

farther and farther away he tried to

hold on to the wings of his breath but the

moment slipped further or was it he who

said look at me I’m a big boy pinky

swear you won’t stay mad all night if I poop

a little on your hallway rug it won’t

hurt anything or what did it mean when

Keats wrote ‘in language strange she said “I love

thee true”’ was he talking about the words

or the way she said them with a funny

accent or was it fairy talk I’ll put it

into a song I’ll dance while I sing

you’ll have to remember how it all goes

First he imagines a form then something

to put inside it fills slowly from top

to bottom a door opening behind

which a dark nothing that he blindly

rushes to enter a fell creature that

bursts out of the shadow of memory

to tickle having been lying in bed

when it first happened watching the light move

in a different room which was his prayer

a promise across the brightly lit lake

of a woman’s smile so that he knows for

certain he’s loved in that moment of all

the nights of the world crossing and uncrossing

his legs to open and close and be love

David Hadbawnik is a poet, translator, and medieval scholar. Recent books include a translation of the Aeneid (Shearsman, 2023); an edited volume, Postmodern Poetry and Queer Medievalisms (Medieval Institute Publications, 2022); and a book of poetry, Holy Sonnets to Orpheus and Other Poems (Delete Press, 2018). He currently lives in the Minneapolis area with his wife and family.

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