Hannah Larrabee: Murmuration

Larrabee_Murmuration_web cover

Murmuration: poems by Hannah Larrabee. Number 16 in the Robin Becker Chapbook Series, selected by Julie R. Enszer. 

Publication:  October 15, 2017 [100 copies]
21 pages
$ 9.00

Cover art by Paul Bilger

Hannah Larrabee is the author of Sufjan (Finishing Line Press 2017) and Virgo (FLP). She was selected by NASA during a call for artists, allowing her to view the James Webb Space Telescope in person before it launches in 2018; poems written from this experience were featured online and in print at the Goddard Space Center. She’s had work in HOUSEGUEST, The Harpoon Review, Fourth River, Rock & Sling, and Printer’s Devil Review, among others. Hannah teaches writing and works for a software company in Boston. She holds an MFA from the University of New Hampshire.


Snow is the backdrop.
Things continue
to live
quietly, unharmed,
only hushed.

A child is carried
in this way
through city streets,
blanketed and warm:
a universe
of safety.

We are meant
to stay within each
other, to leave
the confines is to feel
silence. One town over
a man’s wife strayed,
so he wounded
another man
then turned the gun
on himself.

He left her alone.

Out there,
in a bolder place
than this,
Voyager 1 nudges
against the heliopause;
it is the farthest
we have ever

No one waits for it
save for a few
and the morning
news. And no one
waits for her,
not anymore.
The papers all say
her husband was only good,
the kind of man
who cannot be

Voyager 1 snaps
a photograph
over its shoulder:
the Earth no bigger
than an egg
glowing in uterus.

Snow is the backdrop.

At home, she wraps
herself in a blanket,
no longer home.

Voyager 1 turns
off its camera
and listens
to darkness.
It is not silence,  
is it.

_______ _______ _______ _______ _______ _______ _______