Girls by Samantha Hunt

All afternoon, I watch
them from behind the blinds.
They are lying, supple-limbed;
teasing the grass.
I envy the ballerina like
Arches in their backs,
their toned arms
stretched toward the
early Autumn sun-
See, how gold the air is!
How colour smatters
their cheeks, lips;
see how I sit in the
shadows. How I cradle
my overstretched
skin and pop another
zinc- like candy
Under my tongue-
See how much better I am now,
See my dusty smile.

Drawing with light by Samantha Hunt

I’d like to begin by
telling you a story,
Once told me to me.
In the lifeless dark, my Mother would
hold my hands.
who shushed children the children
without stories of their own/
to sleep.
The fairy was a selkie,
a seal woman who’d
had her skin stolen by
the fishermen
and ghosted the sea
for her lost children.
She’d risen from their imaginations/
Those vicious dreams, and sung
as they lay mute
against the pillows,
she’d take their nightmares,
and fasten them to her dress/ until it breathed
tears / and her dress grew heavy, heavy
and heavier still with all of the troubles/
It heaved with troubles/
And she’d carried them to the sea/
ready to throw each and every one
in to the blue….

This has been coming for a long time.
Last Summer, I’d sat on the
porch of the holiday house,
and listened to the sea.
There was a fierce blue
Beyond all of that vapid dark
It felt as though
It could get/could fall
Right in to the skin.
Some opaque weight
That came close, close and closer still-
In that muggy night
the moon pulled itself up
Then hung from the window by threads.
The blue wrapped its
knuckles around my fingers.
My thoughts turned in to/
fierce blue waves.
Silent visitors/
That crawled on sedimented
beds of day dreams.
The sky, water.
It was all a net
I was pulled in by strings.
Everything was blue, bitter blue.
The kind of blue that made me glad to
be alive.
Those waves shivered
across the back of my neck/
in to my synapses.
A deep swell burrowed under my fingernails,
and dripped on to each nerve.
In the confusion, love was palpable, tender.
It just wont stop/
It just wont stop.
Blue had fizzled on my flesh, until
It fell apart bit by bit.
I was stunned by the callous blue mist,
like the abyss of a winter morning.
It dragged me/
to the edge of my skin/
pulled me out/
bones and all.
I’d let the blue permeate my body/
It had desecrated-
I’d opened my lips-
but something inside had split.
Silence  flexed around
me like curtain wire.
My words hung from
a beautifully grotesque hook.
I’d twisted
the blue around my contorted fists.
it just won’t stop/
it just won’t stop/
In that Summer evening
the blue
had gushed between
my fingers.
A pulse in stops and starts.
I’d needed water
To cool the vicious fever.
That blue was a/
brutal caress.
It’s not going to stop/
it’s not going to stop/
Skin. Skin was all that I had
A sugar paper quilt,
A translucent defence against the light/
Oh, the light. The light.
A warning siren against a peculiar night.
I’d turned my face toward the sky-
and watched a paper chain of dolls
that glimmered in the blue.
They held each other/
and danced.
Their flesh was a corpse
like membrane.
I’d seen through
to their blue smudged hearts-
It dripped like ink/
drip/ drip/ drip-
It’s not going to stop/
it’s not going to stop/
so just give up.
I’d said no no no no no
Don’t bring that blue close-
Don’t let it in, don’t-
I’d pushed against the air with my hands.
No no no no no no
I’d tried to
speak/ without talking
cry without weeping/
scream without raising my voice.
Everything was blue,
fierce blue.
The kind of blue that
made me glad to be –
I’d been a child at
The edge of the sea,
I hadn’t cried.
It had pulled me out/
through my skin/
bones and all.
Still, I’d taken those stories/
Still/ I’d squeezed them/
between my palms
and exhaled the cries
as my own.

Untitled by Samantha Hunt

Tell me, which of your tender spots
brushed against the sheets last night
And set your skin aflame?
A dew soaked morning is
swelling beneath
Your eyelids, resting
On your cheekbones.

Watch the round
of your face in  semi-opaque
glass become an ash grey moon-
Move your lips against the mirror,
Beg for a needle to stem the pain;
the chill of the sea
pulsing through your veins
your paper thin body fluttering
against the North waves.

September by Samantha Hunt

The teacher comes to
usher you from class
with a forced smile.
My hand grips your
book bag
before there
is time
to argue.
Your feet shuffle
across the gravel
path to the waiting taxi;
it’s engine spluttering,
then rattling with
a heady resignation.
You stop before the
car, digging your
toes into the
playground, the tiny breath
of your ‘no’ bursting
in the almost
Autumn air-
My arms around
your back guiding
you toward the
click of the child-locks
springing free.