PAULA HACKETT: Poems
Still Mourning
There has been no contact
I can feel each pore open and close
with the little time they get
Faces come back at me
Vague loathing at what I have become
Did you know what happened?
That you are gone
And we have become very quiet
Very numb and ashamed
I wonder what Fred Hampton
was dreaming about?
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Picture
If when walking the beach
with my dog
I notice the gentleness of the sea
and how the waves always come back
If I see him rolling in the wet sand
I laugh, knowing this is a picture
A thing that will stay with me
a long time.
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Dancing Around The Fire
It is wet outside
Even here I can tell that much
There are other bodies
Sitting, crying, smoking
mostly women
No one talks
A form with a face moves toward me
"Back again?
You can have a cigarette now
First take these
They will help you relax
Don't be afraid."
Afraid?
Afraid is something that died with my mother
Taste the pills and wait for morning
Faces that are mine mill in the hall
The Arab with the sheet
The old woman rocking and singing my thoughts
They move us into a large room with many lights
We are in a circle
They are throwing a colorfull ball to each other
When someone catches it they shout their name
The ball hits me
a chance to be heard
They will listen to my story
I will speak for all of us
My voice rises to the air
"Spare change!"
I hear laughter
Someone is moving me away
I see my face on the ceiling
A color with a light
A light that is sound
The air drags against my voice
I speak
"1, 2 buckle your shoe
3, 4 dead on the floor
5, 6 beaten with sticks
7, 8 you came too late."
"Take these do you know where you are?"
Eyes focus
A white snake
Look above the sky
I could hear my voice in another room
screaming
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Making You Wait
I could just shoot you
watch you stagger across the room
My favorite actor even in dying
posing, dropping to the ground
gasping, bewildered, unable to enjoy
your final moments
my gift to you, your death
somehow it would turn into
a misunderstanding
so instead I'll continue
to call in the night
and read you my poems
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Razors
They sewed it up again
little needles coming in
and out of my arm.
It is no longer rage
but a shy fear of myself
Looking at the product
I see fading colors
Rubbing my hand against
it, there are still signs
of death.
How can I calm your
trembling lips
the blood felt so warm
running down my limb.
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Billy Holliday
(a lullaby)
Sometimes when nature is quiet
and the moon shines just where you are
I can hear you singing the spirit world to rest
I remember as a child your voice would wrap me in cotton
as you felt the blows for all of us
Born into a country that tried to
make your voice illegal
poise and elegance was your response
And tonight like so many
nights as I wait for morning
I know I can count on
the voice of Billy Holiday
A Letter To Be Sent
When the first few leaves had fallen
and we took our time about things
everyday was a new season
and we had a wedding in the woods and told
a lie that would last forever.
Remember the purple dress we bought?
I still have it, saved for our little girl
that never happened.
The vines have covered my windows and our
doll house has turned into a tomb.
But I want you to know
I've solved one problem
now when people ask me, "What do you do?"
I smile and tell them I think of you
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No Cure
It's true I do like my gin
but not sloppy
slow and easy
the way the body goes
the way the mind makes things
funny or sad depending on the
night before
depending on what you've said
thinking of leaves all brown now
the rain making no noise
holding the bottle to my ear
I think of the good times
Only the good times
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For John Beecher
"Woke up this morning with
my mind set on freedom"
I woke this morning
Mind fused with technology
heart whimpering for something
else left out
Sick in this very heart
Winked at,
tricked by passing traitors
Men of distinction
Their differences only
that evil does not imitate
I woke, odorless, speechless,
eyelids held back in fear,
On this morning
Dissolving
without color
loveless senile
without thought
of music
Only with these fingers
these feet
this blood that thumps
these four strong limbs
I embrace this wretched day
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I Overheard My Mother's Death
I overheard my mother's death
Her side of the story finally told
Defiant face slapping monsters coming at her
and she holding her ground
not one to compromise
not now not ever really
But always generous
Even now letting me listen in
to hear the end of her life
And the beginning of so many
memories together
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Vision of a Catatonic
I've been leaving here for a long time
with a pill with a goodbye
when anger was the only feeling
and seeing that we turned old and sad
sometimes the jazz was too loud
and we were too happy
warm with whiskey and your face
that turned many colors
words were silly things we forgot about
and magic was a thing
that made us all children.
Now people think I've wasted my life
and that I've nothing to say
but turning away, I'm sorry
I was only trying to get back
to the place I've never been before
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COMA RISING (for Art Pepper)
Anger in motion
in public places
in mid-air
posing with sick habits
fighting like a disease
twisting shaking desire
in every note
An alto saxophone
faster than any words
any thoughts except Art Peppers
A knife thrower with a face
full of glee
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