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Yellow Tape & White Carpet

A poem from Hunter Hall, also available in A Beautiful Resistance: Left Sacred

 

I grew up haunted
unwanted
except by
the bog lady
leading me to her special
spot for the best cranberries.

Come, little girl…
I have a secret to tell you.

(crawling under the beams
cheek pressed tight to the dirt
clawing cobwebs from
my eyes
I realize that
I am my own bar with
KEEP OUT
DON’T EVER GO THAT FAR
written on it.)

I grew up possessed
distressed
swallowed by memories
dipped in head first.
My mind is a cup
that is overflowing
sploshing all over
the fancy white carpet.

(And Lo! An angel
appeared
and whispered
secrets that I have forgotten)

I sleep
and dream
of unrelenting glimpses
of happiness.

(memories slip up
like gas trapped in a tar pit
telling me all those secrets
again and again.
always too late to prevent
the slackjawed
train wreck I create)

I grew up haunted.
Unwanted.
I dream that that will change
that I will be seen.
Heard.
I grew up, but not out,
trapped in that
bog or tar pit
only glimpsed
in nightmares
and torn fragments
of hazy memories.

(look at me,
come on,
see me.)

It will never be me,
for I spilled my
heart’s blood all over
your fancy white carpet.
and I have no more
to give.


Hunter Hall

gloriaHunter Hall’s a ferocious poet seen late last century lurking black-hooded about the rainy streets of Seattle. Reading Deleuze&Guattari while slinging brutal mochas, channeling serpents and raw riot through her spoken-word performances, she now lurks somewhere in the Salish Sea, plotting revolution while baking for her children.

 

This poem from Hunter Hall is also in A Beautiful Resistance: Left Sacred.

 

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