Marilyn Hacker is one of my favorite poets. I found her work by accident, by reading this online and then I went out and devoured everything she’d written:
The city where I knew you was swift.A lover cabbed to Brooklyn(broke, but so what) after the night shiftin a Second Avenuediner. The lover was a Quaker,a poet, an anti-waractivist. Was blonde, was twenty-four.Wet snow fell on the accessroad to the Manhattan Bridge. I wasneither lover, slept uptown.But the arteries, streetlights, headlines,phonelines, feminine plurallinks ran silver through the night cityas dawn and the yellow cabpassed on the frost-blurred bridge, headed forthat day’s last or first coffee.
I have considered, several times, getting that first line tattooed on me somewhere.
What’s your favorite poem?