“wet leaf dance” – Hannah Kenyon Lair

i am the smell of rotting leaves and i am the moist soft ground beneath them. you are the joy in jumping and i, i am the rotting.   the sweet peace of falling asleep and forgetting this body rings with the wind like a chorus. will you tell me a story while i go?   you are the bright leaf’s dance as he falls from the tree and i am waking to watch the tree: yellower than the sun and much louder.   on mornings like these, i cannot distinguish between regret and gratitude. i think they must both swing wild in a banjo’s holler.   so i am missing wild brown hills and wild dogs and your voice. i am dreaming of sleepovers and of lives well built.   in these dreams, i meet friends in kindness and patience and i meet strangers with love.   in this...

“monster / creature” – Hannah Kenyon Lair

the words that i have to describe what happened here are not mine, have no value to me: slow dissolution before a rupture. the recognition of pain when the surge fades.   even now, i cannot feel. too frightened, or strong, or alone. all feeling lives in relation to you. how did you manage that, world-builder?   how does it feel to know you’re a god, a mother, a fleshy divinity? is speaking for you something sacred? or are you fertile like rotting fruit – pungent and profane?   ice floe or no, the tide rises. the memory of limbs quiets in the cool dusk. i am using only what you have given me. this is all that i have. daddy frankenstein, i am begging you: look me in the eyes and tell me   you don’t want me to live without you.