Dec 20, 2011

To Hamnet Shakespeare

Written by Austin Allen

Read by Angela Vogel

A set of twins is born a sort of pun,
By wit half-author’d — unintended double;
Flocks of dull pens therefore, abortive son,
May brood, and scratch, and peck, and for their trouble
Leave not a peep, in laboring to explain
The hole that’s torn when half the meaning’s lost.
I think the womb knows no such singular pain
When twice abandon’d. Thine imperfect ghost
Shows everywhere: in mine own mirror’d face,
And (in another way) behind thy mother’s;
Clearest and weirdest in that watery trace
Which mocks thy birthmate, stranded since her brother’s
Sole self adrift — disjoint from earth and heaven —
Struck out, left one behind. Thou wert eleven.

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