Come over
We could cook and stare and eat awhile,
smoke with the sky, incensed,
watch the darkness watch
the ocean in me changes
direction.
We will not be the first
We will not be the first
We will not be the first
to seek the light
to stalk the stars
to sing my scars
to shuffle closer, by the night
cloaked. A little of me
here,
too much over here.
Too much in my hands,
as I eat it all up.
Gobbling down my leaves and bones,
ashes and tulips and dew.
I am going to win this.
Hannah Schenker marinates in the mysterious, complex and often conflicting emotions in her lifelong emotional stir-fry and, combined with observations she makes of herself and other people, writes from this place.