Selection of poems


name. Hattie Morrison

insta. @hattiemorrisonartist //

right now. Artist and writer


I'm too gold for this summer day to catch me out sweating,

and when I forget who I am, shyness getting the best of me, damnit,

I begin to knit the world a stifling blanket.

I think it has something to do with weathering,

or wondering whether I'm doing that side of things right. 

The sun. 

a promotion from shining to lotion . on skin . basking . slick . oil . sticking thighs to leather . urgent warnings . forest fires . damsons over ripening, fruit flies . skies unstitching . overbearing . under wearing . f* , it's hot . swearing from the sweat squeezed out in 




More often than not 

they're undressed and found resting on the breast of a stranger 

drunk and dunked in sweat. 

From head to toe

they've become bored of pennies and the golden hour

you can tell. 

Memories of them are lint attached to cloth

they gather dust and rust at the well of my stomach. 

Those I've given love to (some kind of malting dove to) drink down and fall asleep at night

I want to watch them cry for me, 

then set my eyes alight. 

Access 3.jpg


Last night 

wax filled me up and solidified

Autumn hit my teeth in their gums

Shedding the seasons 

in creases and piles of skin on the floor. 

Slipping, going, going