Strip Mall by Haley Joy Harris

The scab of the earth is a wide museum.
I roam around in gigantic clothes,
Striving to be unrecognizable.
To give consequence to the peril of my inner world.
I’m becoming a circle forever to fit you here.
A closed system, protecting the truth from fixity.
This pleases whatever god in my stomach,
But is violent to my reality.
I am a coward stuck inside the problem of beauty.
The semantic field is an utter desert,
And there is no such thing as a point in time.
Still, there is odd pleasure in seeing
So much confusion.
A stucco fountain is an oasis outside the strip mall.
I sit on its edge in silence.
Is cowardice just the tangled path of valor?
When I slam my words together, it does make a sound.
When I look closely, there’s an abundance of coy,
Symbiotic with the recycled water.
The glass surface of the shop door reflects
The glass surface of the fountain back to itself
Like a long song, a dark and useless guide
That makes possible, for tiny instants,
An angle of light, widening.

Haley Joy Harris is a writer from Los Angeles living and teaching in western Massachusetts.

4 August 2025