The Gate


I had no idea

that the gate

I would step through

to finally enter this world

would be the space

my brother’s body made.

He was a little taller than me:

a young man

but grown, himself by then,

done at twenty-eight,

having folded every sheet,

rinsed every glass he would ever rinse

under the cold and running water.

This is what you have been waiting for,

he used to say to me.

And I’d say,


And he’d say,


holding up my cheese and mustard sandwich.

And I’d say,


And he’d say,


sort of looking around.
Categorized as Poetry
Holger Hubbs

By Holger Hubbs

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  1. Something I like about this poem is the mystery in it. I don’t think a prose explanation can do justice to any really good poem. It cannot rival the beauty of the language. But also, prose is designed for linear thinking, not for capturing a moment in time, or flipping a switch in the brain, taking us beyond the rational mind.

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