ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Paula Harris is the author of the poetry chapbook I make men like you die sweetly (dancing girl press, September 2019). She lives in New Zealand, where she writes poems and sleeps in a lot, because that’s what depression makes you do. She won the 2018 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize and the 2017 Lilian Ida Smith Award. Her writing has been published in various journals, including Berfrois, Queen Mob’s Teahouse, The Rialto, Barren, SWWIM, Glass, Aotearotica, The Spinoff and Landfall.
Also by Paula Harris:
telegrams to the lover that maybe I never really had
I only allow those who I deem worthy to share in my favourite chocolate; your heart is still being weighed
the life expectancy of a cloud
Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry:
after the deaths, bees will collect pollen from the flowers
Your doctor, your mentor, your lecturer, your flatmate, those two guys you kinda knew at your friend’s party, the guy who came around to fix your computer when it picked up some malware, your uncle, the police officer you asked for help because you really needed help, your dentist, your ex-boyfriend, the guy who lives over the road who has a friendly cat, the author whose book you’ve read seven times, your electrician, your best friend, your psychiatrist, your boss, the bouncer at that bar you like, the guy behind the counter at your favourite café, your Tinder date, a politician, a lawyer, the businessman you chatted with at an After Five function, the taxi driver who took you from the airport to your house, your cousin, your best friend’s brother, your best friend’s cousin, your husband, the waiter at that restaurant that serves really amazing desserts, your dad, your personal trainer
Genghis Khan caused the death of 10% of the world’s population, leading to forest regeneration and increased carbon absorption; I struggle to get out of bed in the morning but still recycle and in summer try to water my garden with grey water from the washing machine
I doubt Genghis had planned
on being an environmentalist
when he worked out his life goals.
Most of the time I cry when I make
myself come, savagely missing
the touch of
another. Each day I
surrender to my brain before
I even wake up, only opening
my eyes to look
at the destruction
it trampled along the way.
I hadn’t planned on
being this lonely.
I was watching something on TV and they mentioned how Genghis Khan had vastly improved the environment by killing so many people. This was such a weird little fact that I had to go and read up more about it (my hospital psychologist calls this my nerd-poet tendency). There was something about one of the most brutal empire builders inadvertently doing so much good for the environment that, well, it delighted me.
When I sat down at my computer, I had no idea where the poem was going to go. I was just thinking about the things we don’t plan in life, the things we never intend for. This is where the poem decided to take things.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
