The Works of Kirk Hathaway
Residing in North Carolina where he pursues sailing and the publication of an online magazine celebrating open waters of the Carolinas, Kirk Hathaway is graduate of SFSU's Masters Playwriting Program. A veteran of numerous productions, Hathaway credits his shift from playwriting toward poetry to a 1993 head-on collision where others lefts him for dead, pinned within his truck. The deposition claim "a moment later he was squirming around the ground like a worm on hot cement" is an analogy he plans to have bettered before his next left-for-dead experience.
All Poems © Kirk Hathaway
Now and Later
Somewhere near a fence row, I see you
at the back of the property
where a dozen ghosts delay your days,
keep you inside the center of a seeded dandelion
waiting for wind and the wanting to go.
“Do you believe in fairies?” I whisper
from the gate where the passing of the mailman
has made even the dogs dumb of strangers.
I see you up there wandering, the dogs too
in your world of worlds inside.
You look up to a breeze that doesn’t come.
The dogs find your attention and you
find them, your hands’ unconscious company
as I move to touch the gate but pause
my fingers just touching and no more.
I imagine some miles down the road
pavement disappearing under my wheels
that even now you are coming up
from the dogs, looking down the drive
imagining someone was there.