Archived: Shhh :: Hannah Pratt

Sing in the dungeons and dirty yellow streets; hallelujahs for the dead beat

Scatter the orange juice like the catatonic turtle of The Grapes of Wrath

Sink the coffee pot, empty today, but tomorrow there should be more

Slip into old ways, old dresses, old photographs— cold hands

Strap the bulletproof vests to chests as a vestige for good will

Stop the exchange of tulips and request that roses be for rent

Shop for new tires or long ago memories to reprimand

Silence the demands of underground delusions

Swing for the fences; wash your convictions

Send best wishes in the worst sentences

Solidify promises; keep them found

Swear for daybreak’s sake to

Shift positions and



This time will be different instead of difficult

If it seems like the path is pointless, if it seems like the sharks are circling

If it seems like your friends are running late, if it seems like you can’t handle the future—



Tomorrow and on,

Don’t try to prove them wrong