Book of Hours Quotes

“At night I count
not the stars
but the dark.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“I now know pain
is part of any journey-
that this is the opposite
of grief, but grief
the only way I know
to describe waiting
and waiting without
knowing, hoping one day
joy will arrive.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“Not the storm
but the calm
that slays me.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“It never ends, the bruise
of being”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“We are not born
with tears. Your

first dozen cries
are dry.

It takes some time
for the world to arrive

and salt the eyes.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“To waste

this heart once more
& have you
here, not silent, only

quiet, as before.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“what you must
understand is that
the herald & the horror
are the same.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“In the night I brush
my teeth with a razor”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“Letters
I've never sent.

This life
we're only renting.

Battered the world is -
bartered -
wander over it
the stars finding

us wanting.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“How I wish I could leave

or forget all my dead.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“Every pore mourns.
Not the brain, nor
the chest where bereavement

nests, but the body, whole--
how it burns.
The ache of new bone

being grown.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“Grief

The borrowed handkerchief
where she wept

returned to me months later,
starched, pressed.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“It's death there
is no cure for--

life the long
disease.

If we're lucky.

Otherwise, short
trip beyond.

And below.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“This world is rigged
with ruin.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“Do not believe

angels are easy.
Instead, terrible,

terrific
in the oldest sense--

the ground giving

way beneath
your feet.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“It never ends, the bruise
of being”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“It's hard being
human.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“The day will come

when you'll be dead longer
than alive--thankfully

not soon.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“May God or whoever else
spare you

the arms of bereavement
specialists--

grant mercy from the Team
dedicated to your transition

in this difficult time
yet who won't tell you

a thing & know far less.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“Like grass in rain,
my dead grow

at an amazing rate.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“He said being dead was a little
like living, only longer.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“I am no longer ashamed
how for weeks, after, I wanted
to be dead--not to die,

mind you, or do
myself in--but to be there
already, walking amongst

all those I'd lost, to join
the throng singing,
if that's what there is--

or the nothing, the gnawing--
So be it.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“So many socks.

After the pair
the undertaker asks for
(I picture them black

beneath the fold
in your open casket,
your toes still cold)

what else to do,.
Body bags
of old suits, shirts

still pressed, long
johns, the unworn,
unwashed wreckage

of your closet, too many
coats to keep, though I will save
so many. How can I

give away the last
of your scent? And still,
father, you have errands,

errant dry cleaning to pick up--
yellow tags whose ghostly
carbon tells a story

where to look. One
place closed
for good, the tag old.

One place with none
of your clothes,
just stares as if no one

ever dies, as if you
are naked somewhere,
& I suppose you are.

Nothing here.
The last place knows exactly
what I mean, brings me shirts

hanging like a head.
Starched collars
your beard had worn.

One man saying sorry, older lady
in the back saying how funny
you were, how you joked

with her weekly. Sorry—
& a fellow black man hands
your clothes back for free,

don’t worry. I’ve learned death
has few kindnesses left.
Such is charity—so rare

& so rarely free—
that on the way back
to your emptying house

I weep. Then drive
everything, swaying,
straight to Goodwill—

open late—to live on
another body
& day.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“Grief

In the night I brush
my teeth with a razor”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems

“I have come to know
sorrow's
not noun
but verb, something
that, unlike living,
by doing right
you do less of.”
― Kevin Young, Book of Hours: Poems