From Holy Cross to Oakland
Poetry by David Havird, selected by Louisiana Poet Laureate John Warner Smith
In this poem, matter and spirit intersect in spaces where seeing means believing in something. David Havird’s senses are ablaze with imagination and burning with faith.
—John Warner Smith
I sit beneath a wooden vault’s steep prayer,
which slices through a day that blurs with rain.
Amid a ship’s deep belly,
I hug myself as though to hang head down,
a bat, from a beam.
If I were to open the cape of myself
and radar out of the chilly nave,
I’d nose through ground as through night air,
dug earth’s unbreathable dark,
dodging Clark and Marks,
Cane, McCune, and Crain,
remains that hover over their drowned stone names.
David Havird is the author of two collections of poems, Map Home (2013) and Penelope’s Design (2010), which won the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize. His most recent book is Weathering (2020), a “chimeric omnibus” of poetry and memoir. He taught for thirty years at Centenary College of Louisiana. He lives in Shreveport.