LOUDSPEAKER:: Poetry by Gage Tarlton

Writing

Sep 22

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WUSSY is proud to present poetry by Southern writer, Gage Tarlton.
If you would like to send in a writing submission, please contact Nicholas Goodly.

Genesis

In the beginning, God made weather,
feeling a rush of inspiration upon hearing
Vivaldi’s Four Seasons; Spring passes,
and throughout Summer, rain comes and goes,
smelling like the words “thick” & “musty”
in its often-lost battle with the sun.

But one day, drained from the heat of the 8th month,
the sun loses
and the grays hide the rays
and the wetness of rain’s sound
cleanses the dry ground
glued to the skin of soil.

Soil outside is soil
Soil inside is dirt
That’s what my Momma always told me
Told by hers and hers before,
Southern womanhood falling
as droplets of shhhh, collecting knives
of grass. And the grass is grateful.
The grass says thank you.
The grass feels good.
The grass is full.

And when the sun regains its strength,
it returns with vengeance,
parting the grays,
halting the rain.
Taking its rightful place
and shining down again.

The grass cries out,
a sharp blade screeching
More rain, more rain!
Do you hear the grass crying?
Can you feel its sorrow?
Do you even care?

The sun does not hear,
The sun cannot feel.
So the rain waits.
Slowly tortured
by the heavy cries it must burden.
The rain waits.

In a grandmother’s slip…*

*
A secret treasure of Goodwill,
measured in its name, appearing to me
as a gift from an unknown past. I feel
at home in its grass that prickles
my skin like pinecones.

*
The language of
my body is foreign to me,
terrorizing citizens of my tongue,
serving unknown forces,
yanking molars from gums,
pacifying its imprisoned anguish.

*
Time passes through wars, through kitchens,
mixed into pies that taste like rough anger,
lifting dough, heat rising, blazing jelly melting into
sweat beading necklaces across my forehead -
missiles firing through pores; wounds shattering illusions;
A body mutilated, a bo(d)y no more.

*
I wake; The final battle finally won,
granting my wish of shape
-less skin, wind fluttering like wings of
fireflies, clouds scattered with chirpings
of crickets (surrender)ing to
nothing. Everything surrendering
to me.

Gage Tarlton is a Southern genderqueer writer of plays and poetry. His plays have been developed with The Kennedy Center, PlayMakers Repertory Company, Kenan Theatre Company, amongst others. You can find more about him and his work at gagetarlton.com. (Twitter/Instagram: @gaygetarlton)

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