Thomas Centolella: The Hope I Know
The Hope I Know
doesn’t come with feathers.
It lives in flip-flops and, in cold weather,
a hooded sweatshirt, like a heavyweight
in training, or a monk who has taken
a half-hearted vow of perseverance.
It only has half a heart, the hope I know.
The other half it flings to every stalking hurt.
It wears a poker face, quietly reciting
the laws of probability, and gladly
takes a back seat to faith and love,
it’s that many times removed
from when it had youth on its side
and beauty. Half the world wishes
to stay as it is, half to become
whatever it can dream,
while the hope I know struggles
to keep its eyes open and its mind
from combing an unpeopled beach.
Congregations sway and croon,
constituents vote across their party line,
rescue parties wait for a break
in the weather. And who goes to sleep
with a prayer on the lips or half a smile
knows some kind of hope.
Though not the hope I know,
which slinks from dream to dream
without ID or ally, traveling best at night,
keeping to the back roads and the shadows,
approaching the radiant city
without ever quite arriving.
Discussion Questions
How does Centolella’s hope contrast with Dickinson’s?
What images in this poem, if any, resonate (or jar) with your experience? (presented with a quote from lines 13-18)
What do these poems reveal about how we find and maintain hope through difficult times?
Reflections from #MedHumChat
“I love that this hope has the chance to falter, that it is fallible, that it is half-hearted, somewhat measured, and deeply human--and yet it persists.”—@SarahBencharif
Hope can be both ideal and lived experience: it can summon our best and muddle with us through the worst; it can sing in the storm and still get its feet wet; it can carry us from dream to dream, drawn by a sense of purpose — ‘without ever quite arriving.’”—@anoushkaasinha
“The contrast between the two [poems] is really poignant. Reading Centonella reminded me it's okay to not always be optimistic, it's ok to feel tired and broken and worn out, especially now. In some form, even if not always glamorous, hope will always sustain us”—@preranachatty
“From the first poem, hope can be accessed even in the bleakest moments. From the second poem, hope is a complex human feeling that is not permanent. To me as a cancer patient, hope is something that comes and goes. I need to make room for its inconstancy.”—@sleotin
About this #MedHumChat
“The Hope I Know” was paired with the poem “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickinson for a #MedHumChat discussion on May 6, 2020 exploring Maintaining Hope.
The pieces for this chat as well as the accompanying discussion questions were curated by Anoushka Sinha, MD (@anoushkaasinha).
We were honored that Perri Klass, MD (@PerriKlass) could join as a special guest for this discussion. Perri Klass, MD is a pediatrician who writes fiction and non-fiction covering a range of topics including children and families, medicine, food and travel, and knitting.
About the Author
Thomas Centolella is an American poet who has authored four books of poetry and has won several awards for his work, including the Lannan Literary Award, the American Book Award, and a Guggenheim Fellowship. He has also taught literature and creative writing in several schools and programs.