Taylor Hagood: Writer, Lecturer, Professor


Like a beam, splintered,
the naked rush
of day-wane.

Blue folds of a duster,
overworn, browning;
the spun bunting of white hair inclines
in the yellow lamplight.

Nearby, the piano---untuned, keys
missing, its black cabinet rich
with silence.

Here is a memory of church
Sunday after Sunday after Sunday.
And an older one
of holding the coats of the men
who tied the nooses
and lit the fires.

Originally published in Louisiana Literature 27.2 (2010): 39.