The Reason

The heart has reasons, Pascal said, which reason
knows nothing of. But I think we know the reason.

The man combs his dark hair and trims his beard,
but the woman who swipes left still has a reason.

The plane lost altitude and smacked a mountain?
Check the black box for the official reason.

He said he’d left his three kids at the shelter
when he lost his job, and clung hard to the reason.

If the twister killed the whole congregation
at Wednesday service, well, isn’t God the reason?

Winning the war at the cost of all his men:
yes, that was a calculus the general could reason.

Another late night jag, the waking with my cheek
on the same cold tile, the exonerating reason—

Morri, I ask the mirror, why all these dark lines?
I’m just a rhyme, he says. You are the reason.

Morri Creech

Morri Creech

Morri Creech is the author of four collections of poetry, including The Sleep of Reason (Waywiser 2013) and Blue Rooms (Waywiser 2018). He has new work appearing in Antioch Review, Yale Review, The New Criterion, and elsewhere. He lives in Charlotte, NC.
Morri Creech

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Author: Morri Creech

Morri Creech is the author of four collections of poetry, including The Sleep of Reason (Waywiser 2013) and Blue Rooms (Waywiser 2018). He has new work appearing in Antioch Review, Yale Review, The New Criterion, and elsewhere. He lives in Charlotte, NC.