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Lia Yaranon Hall

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.

::06:06:08::

::: An Arsonist's Remorse :::

I know what breaks a Greek plate
And the intent of a ceramic artist
The uncertainty of a kiln
And variables of responsibility
Within accidents going places
To happen and the ones we preserve
In jars for an occasion to spill
And break and slip like the coaxing sparkle
Of a drying marble floor

Masters of Circumstance never test fire
Clip yellow-leafed plants cradled legs in hands
Examining dead the skin mix with sand.

The intellect grows a peach a bit
Brain and dripping sweet a chin mimicking
The edge of what a human can face
A volcano inverted as ash
Before lava or blood before basalt

We suspend our bodies in burlap decisions
And dangle ripe in the trees burning
To bust open our guts to become spectral
Activity and savorily spent

I could have left a couple chipped
Dishes or a few finger dents
In the frosting or one yellowing plant
But at the pavers’ discretion
Without the courtesy of cones
We let the jackhammers fraction
Our tameless terrain

I know the remorse of an arsonist
And the quiet after the crackle
The twisted fate of a toaster taken up in steely flames
I know the accident of throwing inextinguishable matches
Of lovers and time and accidents
Like tricky birthday candles jinxing a wish.

Written by: ~ Lia Yaranon Hall

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