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noise I come from

by Hannah Joy Lehman

noise I come from

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Picture by Chris Cureton

November 22, 2010








I come from noise, family.
A noisy family that is very tall.
So tall.

I come from height, and children, and laughter, and noise.
Did I say noise?
I mean noise.

The noise of dogs and babies and interjections and wanting to interject but what happens if I interject?

I’ve tried to interject.
I am interjecting.
And still I am not heard.

I am heard.
Even when I don’t want to be,
I am the herd.
Once I was the herd, now I am an island.

I come from the plains, the trees, greenery, grass.
Many grasses.
Now I am the grass and there are no plains, only planes.

I come from.
I once was.
I now am.
Oh, how I am.

I am free to the plains, to interjecting.
I can hear the interjections yet I am plane-rides away.

Once I was enmeshed.
Now I am away.

I come from family and god.
I come from the Family of God, capital G, God, God, God.
I am God.
I am nothing.

I come from freedom.
I come from driving my own car to having no car.
I come from hating my car to wanting it back so bad.

I come from North Carolina.
I come from the South.

I come from fresh seafood and year-round farmers’ markets and I come from oblivion of all these things to a climate that moves faster past farmers’ markets than I can blink.

I come from hard work and entitlement.
I have no entitlement.
I am entitled to interject.
But I won’t.

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