New Orleans
In a room above the streets he paints.
He paints a corpse on the ground
and a musician on a rooftop. He dips his brush
into water and sees dead bodies, floating
to the surface. He remembers that someone
once said: “God help us.” In his lost mind, politicians
cut the throats of babies. A helicopter doesn’t stop,
with a brush stroke, he sends the cop to hell.
In a dab of white paint a bunch of flowers falls –
hangs suspended, gravity abandoned
adorns a mass grave while a woman sings:
Yo soy la desintegración
He wants to touch her. He knows that after this
there is no more contact, no more belief.
Hannah Silva has performed at festivals including Latitude, the Edinburgh Fringe and Stanza. She is currently directing her play The Disappearance of Sadie Jones and touring The Total Man with Electronic Voice Phenomena. Her poems are published in anthologies by Penned in the Margins and Bloodaxe. This is her blog.