Spring 2000 • Vol. XXII No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 2000 |

Déjà Vu

A flap in time, a hinge in space, a secret drawer, a panel, an unexpectedly discovered island in the river, an instant confidence that is immediately forgotten until, unless some utter stranger comes upon it later, years later, less by rumor, instinct, chance, blind luck, or vision, or memory. These discoveries are the future recollected, a bump of time scooped from hereafter and transferred to now, stolid duration's understudy, flashback of the future. No wonder children (have I read this, heard, remembered, dreamed it?) experience these interludes, these hidden flaps more strongly, more urgently, as more uncanny, ghostly, and amazing than those of us bowed down so blindly by the weight of days, beyond astonishment, made numb by dint of repetition. Children, with more they must experience, less they can remember, itch to accumulate, take hold of even what is not exactly now, precisely then, but somehow in between--- ghostly, prophetic, a quotidian-gilding vision wrung from

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Folded Back

By Rachel Hadas

A flap in time, a hinge in space, a secret drawer, a panel, an unexpectedly discovered island in the river, an instant confidence that is immediately forgotten until, unless some […]

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