February 2010

Danielle Hanson


Danielle Hanson received her M.F.A. from Arizona State University and now lives in Atlanta, Georgia. Her work has appeared in over 25 journals, including Rosebud, Clackamas Literary Review, The Comstock Review, Poet Lore, Asheville Poetry Review, and Blackbird. She has edited Hayden's Ferry Review, been on staff at The Meachem Writers Conference and received the Fulton County Arts Council Grant for a residency at the Hambidge Center.

Heaven's a Bar in Atlanta, Expensive as Hell,
    and You Have to Pay All Those Demons

I couldn't catch my soul when I sneezed last week.
The glue of "Gesundheit" has gotten old
And cracked in its bottle.
I tried everything to get it back,
A Dustbuster, a Hoover when that didn't work.
I used a crowbar to get back out.
I lost two teeth. I wanted to put up fliers
Offering a reward, but couldn't find its picture.
I think it may now be on the road with the gypsies of America,
Who believe that pictures steal a person's soul.
Forget pictures—I know now that gypsies still steal souls.
They first met my soul at a rest stop,
Asking for money to get back to Macon, Georgia.
My soul was entranced by their freedom, it always hated
Being stuck inside a person like me who knew the scam
Behind four kids and a flat tire. There were guys at my high school
Who always asked for lunch money. Some days they made twenty dollars.
My soul could make a killing doing that. The little tramp
Always knew how to use her eyes on men. She'll fit in well.



Danielle Hanson: Poetry
Copyright ©2010 The Cortland Review Issue 46The Cortland Review