Hajara Quinn



Why didn’t we listen to the lord?
We didn’t listen to the lord because
between praying to
and listening to
we chose praying to the lord
and like radios
we didn’t know how to listen past
ourselves, past our own praying
we sounded
like the classical music station
fucked into cheap thunder by static



Like a horse that balks
at the jump
I am flawed
with repetition
and leaplessness
I look out the window
and say that as a woman in
the world I will be elated and
then not
I will be inconsolable as
the tick, thick as a black
pearl, that finds no solace in blood
Snow is coming down like ocean
ash on bottom dwellers,
night like a black lung
collapsing, the air let out
of a parachute as wide
as the horizon
and as close as our chests
when it comes down
all the way down to rest
upon us in our sleep.
I am flawed
with sleeplessness and pacing
I ask you to tell me one true thing
It’s not the true thing I wanted to hear
Day I had wanted
more from than an unripe avocado
hard as its own hard pit
What if I forget
how to experience joy?
When I get like this
I want to burn the orchard down
I want to burn the peaches from their trees
But I am trying to let the beautiful
be beautiful
I don’t feel sorry for your hot
burning wick.
If I burn it is that I burn with
blaming myself
for bringing what is not ripe yet
to the fruit



In the desert I forget
the desert is not a drought

In the desert the cactus is
constipated with green inclinations
I forget I have a different relationship

to water and sand
than the cactus does

In the desert I forget I am not
the thirstiest thing
The thirstiest thing in the desert is the sun

The sun is the only thing in the desert
far enough removed from the desert

ever to have any recollection of having been in
or passed through the desert
But it is always with the desert

Even if I could bring the desert all the rain it wouldn’t fix
the problem because a desert isn’t a drought


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