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:: Lia Yaranon Hall ::

Submit your original poetry to be displayed in the Penman Lounge on freestylevision.com

I am a fake librarian, a real graduate student, a wannabe acrobat, fallen trapeze artist, aspiring yoga teacher, and bicycle fanatic dreaming about the lives inside and outside of New York City. I am currently investigating the art of tea and trying to love everyone all at once. Although my mother often accused me of being hard headed, I still consider myself highly impressionable. After watching a corny bike film, I got the idea to wash one of my bikes in the shower, which resulted in clogging my drain major New York grime accompanied by bleach-resistant black grease streaks on the white tile. I like this kind of contrast—it resembles words on a page. I like to read and write too.

::02:18:08::

::: Fresh from school :::

On a day when the wallpaper shone
preferable tones of uniform blue
green and the hottest white
I was walking

Even though the natives of this town might agree
that this alone should inject a fluid sense of serenity within me
time was rupturing

and the most outstanding feeling
was not unlike when you are going about your day
and coincidentally you approach an acquaintance

A light of recognition grows upon their face
which you attempt to imitate
they begin to wave a little
kindling affection

You realize they were looking
through you at the man
now brushing past your shoulder

You recoil from your peak
just before plummeting
to the rise of the sidewalk crack
your collected shell disassembles
entropic seabirds startle

Pausing at the overpass
I fish a pebble from my shoe

I throw rocks from above
a sign that illustrates such
(except it should look accidental)
beside the highway
buses substitute ladders and sometimes hoses
incandescent eyes follow
crates of chickens buckled in truckloads
where a body a vehicle

Feathers and fires fan
stretchers and cameras summoned
bodies shudder
Help is on the way

In my periphery an officer’s shadow interrupts the scene
He firmly grabs my shoulder lulling
It is not tomorrow yet
today I notice all the houses
built of brick.

Written by: ~ Lia Yaranon Hall

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