top of page
  • Writer's pictureThe Blue and White Magazine

Measure for Measure, May 2014

Updated: Jul 2, 2021

By Hannah Gorman

I. Revolution

I begin to escape it—

The turn of time no,

But the compulsive counting of spokes

January, February, March cease to order my mind like tire treads marking mud

I begin to turn like the wheel

I tentatively touch the axle

Which is still

In transit, even quiet transit

Even so it moves— maybe forward

II. Motion

A different feeling stirring

I hear the planks creaking, adjusting to the humidity,

Settling in for the long voyage

My breath comes slow and lapping and every hour I sigh once

Like the bell that means the watch is changing

And it is hard to believe my life is twisting into knots

At the magnetism of some foreign body


Recent Posts

See All

By Zibia Bardin The following is an excerpt from a longer work. 1. I visit my grandmother. Outside, the earth presses its face into a pillow. My grandmother’s back is to us when we come in. Her spine

bottom of page