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This Hour And What Is Dead Analysis



Author: Poetry of Li-Young Lee Type: Poetry Views: 215

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Tonight my brother, in heavy boots, is walking

through the bare rooms over my head,

opening and closing doors.

What could he be looking for in an empty house?

What could he possibly need there in heaven?

Does he remember his earth, his birthplace set to torches?

His love for me feels like spilled water

running back to its vessel.At this hour, what is dead is restless

and what is living is burning.Someone tell him he should sleep now.My father keeps a light on by our bed

and readies for our journey.

He mends ten holes in the knees

of five pairs of boy's pants.

His love for me is like his sewing:

various colors and too much thread,

the stitching uneven. But the needle pierces

clean through with each stroke of his hand.At this hour, what is dead is worried

and what is living is fugitive.Someone tell him he should sleep now.






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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

.: fugitive :.

Tonight my brother, in heavy boots, is walking
through the bare rooms over my head,
opening and closing doors.
What could he be looking for in an empty house?
What could he possibly need there in heaven?
Does he remember his earth, his birthplace set to torches?
His love for me feels like spilled water
running back to its vessel.At this hour, what is dead is restless
and what is living is burning.Someone tell him he should sleep now.My father keeps a light on by our bed
and readies for our journey.
He mends ten holes in the knees
of five pairs of boy's pants.
His love for me is like his sewing:
various colors and too much thread,
the stitching uneven. But the needle pierces
clean through with each stroke of his hand.At this hour, what is dead is worried
and what is living is fugitive.Someone tell him he should sleep now.

| Posted on 2005-02-10 | by Approved Guest




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