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Halle Hazzard

Halle HazzardHalle Hazzard

Poetry

A selection from my poetry collection, The Surface Beneath Me,

a journey through roots, disillusion, cracks in perception, and rebirth.

Living in the Gray (Pre-view)

  (Brooklyn Poets Fellowship Semi-Finalist)

     

     My mother’s accent flows  

                    through the aisles  

                                    of a grocery store  


                     passing through people

           who have never heard  

                      someone talk like that  

                                                              before. 


       My father tells me stories  

                       of a small island lost 

                                   in the Caribbean Sea 


           I use my imagination,  

                        dreaming of what could be,


            if I lived in such a beautiful place, 

                     where the ocean breeze  

                                       hits your face 

                    and the reggae beats boom all day. 


                       But instead, I’m left living in the gray.  

Family Tree

(African Voices Magazine, issue 45)

   My family tree 

       lies in the backyard — 

     tombstones unmarked, 

    forgotten, pushed into the 

     ground. 


      No engravings to identify

      the burial mounds that hold 

   their bones.


Their spirits whisper

     in the grass; their voices lilt 

  in the wind, that blows and sways 

 through my curtains. Gentle, serene,  

   the force caresses me like the warm sea 

      breeze, that flows through the windward islands. 


   They hum their sorrows, in songs of grace. I listen 

   to their tribulations, the sufferings they’ve faced, 

amongst the ache of a lineage almost erased. 


        Yet their aura is calm like the moonlight. 

       Harmonious, kind, a comforting presence 

hat smiles down on their bloodline;


For their skeletons 

are in the ground, 

 but I lie here, 

  safe and sound. 

The Chameleon

(BROOKLYN POETS FELLOWSHIP SEMI-FINALIST)

(Brooklyn Poets Fellowship Semi-Finalist)


The mist comes in off the sea 

and settles amongst the leaves

 obscuring my body in fog. 


I lurk in the rainforest, 

my tail coiled around 

a tree branch, as I flash 


the scales of my vessel 

to a foliage green, hiding 

in plain sight, never to be seen. 


Bending my shape, contorting, 

transforming, for my own protection.

 A natural skill for survival, 

you’ll never know my true state.


But as I grow older , 

the fog starts to lift. 

The mist dissipates 

as my ability begins to slip. 


I now enter your space

 in a precarious state. Awkward, 

uncertain, my colors waver in the light 

fluctuating insecure parts of me. 


Once a creature of art,  

now fully exposed for the world to see 

that I can no longer change color

 to fit your environment 


without losing myself 

entirely.


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