#queerprayers poetry

[queerprayers]

the protest sign says "the closet is an awful place to die" (or, in which I ponder creationism) | johanna e. hall | published in fruitslice: a queer quarterly issue 6: queer ecology | art by apb photography | text below

The Protest Sign Says "The Closet is an Awful Place to Die" or, In Which I Ponder Creationism

In the Beginning—after the angels and animals had settled into their hierarchies, after the wild and waste had become something that could hold a garden, after Day and Night were gently pulled apart, Earth and Sea shepherded into place— Male and Female He created them.

A little while later, the Smithsonian shows me a fossil long abandoned by its ocean, the shadow of an animal that evolved before eyes did, still learning how to be looked at. We crawl out of shells carefully furnished by our ancestors and leave tentative footprints in the sand, hoping the museum plaques will be kind to us. Mine will begin:

The woods I grew up in hold sunsets well, Day and Night admitting their overlap, the stories we tell a map but never the land— and how beautiful the land is, the beaches and horizons, the way we carve out a life, neither beast nor angel, cursed to labor and blessed to cultivate.

Evolution continues creation the way I loved before I could speak love into being, the way I forget my friends' old names but never the first girl I held hands with, the way my lover is in the story the way I tell it, and the God they say created Male and Female— who hovers over the face of waters where some are just now learning to swim— hands us the plow.

[queerprayers]

a poem for this season (in which a normal day as a musician is the hardest days of someone else's life) ● published in Headstone Zine vol. 1, available for purchase here: https://www.sserppress.com/product/headstone-zine-vol-1

[queerprayers]

a poem I wrote for national poetry month 2024 in honor of ascension today ☁️

[queerprayers]

An Advent poem by me (Johanna H.), originally published in Geez Magazine's Prayers for the End of the World (Advent 2023).

[queerprayers]

new poem for the other firstborn son <3

[queerprayers]

just had this poem published in issue 4 of bleating thing magazine <3 you can read each column vertically + the whole thing horizontally (plain text under cut)

Plum, Begotten

a twin cinema poem after David Wong Hsien Ming

This poem is meant to be read two different ways. I've tried to make a very visual poem accessible by writing it out twice.

First column:

first fruit

to be domesticated

carefully tended

sweet & fleshy

in the sun

fresh-picked

& ancient

all at once

finding

form, flirting with the impulse to

gut what is holy

make ripe

make each generation forget

a past filled with smaller

tougher meat

with salt of the earth in its

pious mouth, dripping into each

waiting orifice left wanting even

on the chopping block

finding a too-sweet tongue

to peel the skin off of

messing with the scab & discovering

hands warm & sticky

like we were made to taste

Second column:

of the dead, he’s called

& what an image, a

body bared, limbs

twitching like a dreaming dog

pruned hands of a

king letting the light through

young pitted guts

spilling open, barely

enough time to de-

compose, time enough to

be ripped from the earth

skin cold, looking to

the cure for doubt which appears to be

fingers digging inside a

well-preserved

wound like an im-

patient lover’s

out-of-season caresses

do you think he thought about

even just once

growing old

sitting on the porch

& sucking on the pits

of stone fruit

Reading both horizontally:

first fruit of the dead, he's called

to be domesticated & what an image, a

carefully tended body bared, limbs

sweet & fleshy twitching like a dreaming dog

in the sun pruned hands of a

fresh-picked king letting the light through

& ancient young pitted guts

all at once spilling open, barely

finding enough time to de-

form, flirting with the impulse to compose, time enough to

gut what is holy be ripped from the earth

make ripe skin cold, looking to

make each generation forget the cure for doubt which appears to be

a past filled with smaller fingers digging inside a

tougher meat well-preserved

with salt of the earth in its wound like an im-

pious mouth, dripping into each patient lover's

waiting orifice left wanting even out-of-season caresses

on the chopping block do you think he thought about

finding a too-sweet tongue even just once

to peel the skin off of growing old

messing with the scab & discovering sitting on the porch

hands warm & sticky & sucking on the pits

like we were made to taste of stone fruit

[queerprayers]

A queerprayers writing announcement: my poem "Choreía" was given an honorable mention in this year's Catholic Literary Arts Sacred Poetry Contest! I'm so honored and excited to share it with you. You can find this poem and the others chosen here: https://www.catholicliteraryarts.org/2025-sacred-poetry. The tag is for my author Instagram.

<3 Johanna

[queerprayers]

This Holy Week, I wanted to share some old poetry of mine--multiple years as a teenager I would write a poem every day for Lent (well, I would try). It was a strange period in my life. Post-bipolar diagnosis, no longer close to death, but before I had begun building a life for myself. In the Holy Saturday space, clinging to hope. They're not polished, and not what I would usually share, but I just found them again and was overcome with compassion for my past self. Perhaps some of you are in this place (I'm still there sometimes) and would like some company. Check alt text if you can't read anything. Past me sometimes couldn't decide which word to use--sorry if that makes it confusing. Very minor trigger warning for implied self-harm & mention of suicidal thoughts.