by Greg Hall
copyright 2008

When I was born my father wore a lab coat
The first words audible were
“it’s alive, it’s al-l-l-l-ive … ”
Igor stood by and told the old man
“I’m glad your first child is a masculine child”
I ran with the wolves until I was seventeen
The villagers came with torches and burned the castle
But it was empty
It had always been empty
When the moon got full
My face broke out in fur
My teeth felt sharp and I had tons of energy
I became obsessed with Hank Williams
I was ready for love
I was drowning in love
And had no voice
No way to speak to another
Of the vast seas which were navigating me
I hid inside the rain
I hid inside the sunlight
I could only be seen under starlight
I was the howling child
Muted by history
This went on for a long time
But one day this blonde girl
Looking to get out of the rain
Crawled under a boat propped up on the beach
And she taught me to write
My name in the sand
And then taught me to speak
One letter at a time
And then to weave the letters into a word
The words into sentences
And then
To Sing
She kissed me and bade me farewell
Now after this I wove a shirt made up completely of words
In my shirt I can go anywhere and pass for human
When I meet people I say “Spanish Lace”
or “Flamenco Oranges Impersonate My Tears”
Its only in the middle of three A.M.
I wake up trembling and remember my life
As the Monster’s Son
Though still after writing a poem
I must admit
My teeth

Categories: poem by Greg Hall

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