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Lauren Hill Poem
That night when we laid with our backs on a sleeping carpet of grass, we looked up at the
night and explored the vast sky. The star speckled sky stretched across the universe like
wallpaper over an infinite wall. The planets shot across the sky as we played with them like
marbles. The stars decorated the wallpaper in a patterned form. We broke their pattern as I
used a tree branch to shoot them like pool balls into black holes. The planets swirled and
spun blurry like dancing Easter eggs. We satiated our thirst as the Milky Way spilled out onto
the wallpaper. We used Saturn’s rings as monkey bars to dangle above the night. I hid
behind Mars and relished its warmth as we played hide-and-seek. You kicked the earth like a
soccer ball, you sent it rocketing out of the solar system and made a goal into the opposing
galaxy's net. You never liked earth anyway, it was too dirty, so you sent it cutting across the
sky with an airless effort. When we finished, we had changed the universe. The stars were
splattered on and the planets globbed on like a Jackson Pollack painting. The moon had
come to watch, half of his face lit up and the other half was dark and undefined. It looked like
someone pinned up the phantom of the opera’s mask. The moon watched with delight. It
smiled at us because tonight his sky was our playground. We tired out and I rested my head
on your firm shoulder. You looked at me with the sky reflecting back through your eyes. With
a fading breath, the words, “I love you,” floated out from your rosebud lips in a warm breeze
that cloaked my body. With those words the paper sky peeled from its wall and fell with slow
grace like a leaf from a tree. Then the paper landed and the sky blanketed our embraced
bodies. We drifted into an undisturbed sleep, warmed by the relieving glow of the stars.
Copyright © Lauren Hill | Year Posted 2005
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Details |
Lauren Hill Poem
Oil creeping out from a ship over a vast expanse of ocean
of pubescent faces.
Punctuated with
island chains of volcanoes,
scarred land from harsh maintenance.
Pus volcanoes erupting hormones,
hot magma dominating the land.
Adults prepare fervently for the warnings
of unpredictable and raging climates
to no avail.
Fierce weather
takes hold of the adult earth,
wrecking households and curfews.
Preteens find themselves
amid crashing waves,
vehemently confused,
yet confident they know all.
Miniature adults,
yet still fresh from childhood and
brooding with ignorance and sarcasm.
Babies, a newlyweds dream,
twisting, morphing, and maturing into
teenagers-
a parents’ nightmare.
Copyright © Lauren Hill | Year Posted 2005
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Details |
Lauren Hill Poem
White
A celebratory color
representing all the positive things:
peace,
virginity kept,
a waving cloth of surrender.
A symbol of serenity,
white innocence and holiness.
The color that cloaks supremacists who govern prejudice,
and the white of aging hair as vitality
wastes away.
The color of powder that rimmed your nose,
dusted white like the headstones on a cold winter day.
The color of an addiction
that decayed the inner structure of your nose
and decayed the structure of your life.
The white that inflated your brain
with thoughts of what you wanted me to be.
A softened substance,
the color that dulls any hue.
The color that tore us apart
and into a whitened place;
sharp hallways and numerous series of rooms,
sanitized a Godly white,
and twisting into an indefinite vanishing point.
Drained of vitality and emotion,
absorbent white that swallows colors and life.
Your body lying upon stale bleached sheets
and bodies disguised beneath similar shrouds.
As visibility decreases in this snow storm
inside the white room,
your body, lies undisturbed by the monitors
that toll down our time.
Beneath the freshly laid snow blankets
now only your pale foot is visible
adorned with a tag,
a boarding pass for you
to leave this whitened haven.
As my feet crunch down on the snow,
my eyes squint to protect themselves
from sharp crystalline flakes.
Distressed and semi-blinded,
I am relieved to find your headstone,
glazed with fresh layers of white powder.
Copyright © Lauren Hill | Year Posted 2005
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