Jack Hodil

Jack Hodil is an English major and Creative Writing minor at the University of Richmond. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Word Riot, Camroc Press Review, Pure Francis, Phantom Kangaroo, Front Porch Review, and a handful of other places. His fingers are perpetually crossed, so he (usually) writes with his toes.


The old surgeon,
who puts me together,
has hands that are reversed,
on his right arm is his left,
and on his left, his right.

Everything he does
is crossed,
the tools, the parts,
the operation,

this procedure
actually wakes me up,
and I can watch the old surgeon,
as his hands move over
his tools and my parts,
through each of the crossings,
in reverse,
before I slip back under
and out.

I guess that
if something was intended
to be inside of us,
it may have been put in
the wrong way,
the wrong place,
or maybe,
by the wrong person.

This entry was posted in Jack Hodil and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Jack Hodil

  1. Randy Black says:

    Nicely written, cousin Jack. You’ve avoided the temptation to use big, fancy, multisyllabic words that would have sounded entirely inappropriate here. As a result, the poem comes across as plain and simple at first, but it haunts the reader upon reflection. I don’t see anything in this poem that I’d want to throw an egg at.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s