David M. Harris
Until 2003, David M. Harris had never lived more than fifty miles from New York City. Since then he has moved to Tennessee, acquired a daughter and a classic MG, and gotten serious about poetry. All these projects seem to be working out pretty well. His work has appeared in Pirene’s Fountain (and in First Water, the Best of Pirene’s Fountain anthology), Gargoyle, The Labletter, The Pedestal, and other places. His first collection of poetry, The Review Mirror, was published by Unsolicited Press in 2013.
This time it was
elevators, each one going
to a different set of floors. Sometimes
it’s a city, even one I know,
but different, unknowable.
Why can’t I find Fourteenth Street?
Why can’t I remember my address?
The shapes of streets, if I can find
the first landmark, the point
of certainty. I know what the house looks like,
but only from inside. There is always
an oak staircase with a turn,
a stained-glass window there. Home.
Just beyond the reach of memory.
I know where I belong, but not to whom.
Awake, all is manifest, but in sleep I am lost.
Something in me refuses to accept
the best parts of my life: home, family.
Looks for my better self in a house
I have never seen, never will see.