S  e  c  r  e  t  s    blackmail press 24
Hannah May Thompson
New Zealand

Coming from a background in fine arts, Hannah-May has recently started dedicating more time to poetry.  She has had work published in Auckland-based publications Sidestream and The Deformed Paper and put out her first chap-book Menagerie at the end of last year.  Her highlight of this year has been working with Russian artists Gluklya and Tsaplya, and other Unitec graduates on The Idiot Project. Hannah's interests lie within collaboration and helping people.

My mother has prolapsed,
there is a protrusion,
some sort of lump
sticking out.
She is glad –
she thought it was cancer.

When this happened on the farm
we would tie the ewe shut
with baling twine,
stuff it back inside
and wait in hope for lambing
next Spring.

And if the lambs didn't come
we had mutton sandwiches.


I fell in love
with a honey/melon/cinnamon smell
that lingered drunk/crying/pregnant
on my doorstep in Kemp road.
I was pregnant too
and we wound ourselves into a ball
to hum lullabies/secrets/laments
that calmed aching ears.


There was a day where I ran
fast away,
climbing fences,
tangling clothing which tore
on leaping.
Running with my heart
in my throat,
air rasping past
feeling nothing but the thump
of my feet hitting earth.

When the land changed,
I headed for the gravel road,
stones kneading sharp
at the soft pads each landing.
I headed to the forest,
thick with ground-cover
and dark, sodden places
to hide and
to breathe in.

But then the sound came
roaring with the dust,
tearing up the path,
the wake choking me.
My feet were tethered
and lifted from the earth.
My ears full of engine roar,
the hum of electricity,
then silence.

That was the day
I first knew death.