Selection of poems
name. Hattie Morrison
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.
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
THE LOST BOYS
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.
IN MY DREAM
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