Poetry by Hannah Behrens

Abe Bingham CC




That Year in Los Angeles
 
By the time I started 3rd grade
The summer heat had already melted my crayons
into the back dash of the hatchback,
making a permanent indentation.
 
I had already seen the Pacific Ocean
quite a few times
and had been surprised by her coldness.
 
I’d already been to the Magic Kingdom,
survived the whirl of the teacups
that lurched my stomach
into my heart.
 
At 8, I felt seasoned
by my parents’ dislodged choices;
a constant subdividing
of new-age life experiments.
 
               * * *
 
That year, I writhed in her belly.
The bigness of Los Angeles
interrupted me. 
An alien place,
built for adults’ dreams in kids colors
whelmed over its importance
and I felt dumb and small,
shocked and all grown up at once.
 
That year,
I learned to read,
to swim in the pool and the ocean
without drowning.
to lie
to hide sorrow,
to dance and sing in a straight line
to make fake friends
to feel
               not enough.
 
That year, I watched a war start on TV,
saw the tent camps of Skid Row,
Rode the bus up to the Hollywood sign and
to the observatory
bought a postcard for myself from MARS,
which I thought was hilarious 
 
               * * *
 
That year, I wandered our apartment complex
with the other odd kids.
I saw a teen girl sat with her feet hanging
out of her bedroom window,
she had written poetry on her wall
with a black marker, thinking
I didn’t know you could do that.
 
That year, a boy knocked me to the ground
with his backpack,
claiming I shoved his sister on the bus.
It wasn’t intentional,
but I was clumsy, pushing my way forward,
I made her fall.
 
One day, after the bus wouldn’t start after school
a group of us kids decided to walk home
and a strange car that pulled up on us
by the freeway underpass.
We all screamed and
grabbed rocks in our hands,
ready to throw at the kidnappers.
 
That year, a spent syringe showed up
on the playground
and we couldn't play there anymore,
That year came a list of absurdities,
Etiquette lessons,
a home perm job that didn't take
an after-school tutor
Jazzercise
clown college
whole-grain raisin bran
meditation for kids
 
and then the year was up,
leaving Los Angeles as quickly as we’d come
and she became
a place I’d once lived.

​


Hannah Behrens is a poet, freelance writer, and writing coach. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Colorado. She is a native of Boulder, Colorado, and has lived in the Netherlands since 2016. She is working towards her PhD in Expressive Arts Therapy. You can see her work at weedsandwilderness.com



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