Curtains

By: Harrison Hamm

I’m as elegant as I’ll ever be.
Nobody can tell me what the parrots say,
what new languages they’re plotting just before I go onstage.

The stars seppuku themselves
like dominos before the whole sweetness of the city
sprouts into tendrils, applauding
at attention in the rapturous humidity.

We are bowing, our dreams bending
nightmares into old houses we never lived in.

But the skin rotting.
The sanctuary fooding.

And I, some young old dog caught in the drizzle.
By the door, I wait. Licking my paw clean.
I will go on waiting for Him
to call my name

as the curtain falls together in pieces.


Harrison Hamm is a poet, screenwriter, and essayist originally from rural Tennessee, now based in Los Angeles. A 2023 Filmmaker's Workshop Fellow with New York Stage and Film, a 2022 Fellow in Diverso's The Minority Report, and a multi-grant recipient at his alma mater Loyola Marymount University, Harrison develops creative work and scholarship with a commitment to healing and surviving on the margins. Queer, Autistic, mixed-race, devoutly irreligious and otherwise monstrous, Harrison explores themes of grief, violence, faith, and the erotic, often turning to dreamlike and macabre aesthetics to articulate what usually stays caged inside.

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