Cathexis Northwest Press

© 2018 

Hallelujah This

At the factory's front lawn

at a picnic table

birds nosedive and pull

off suicidal flight 

patterns around passing 

automotive bursting soft

between sounds of industry

juxtaposed like trees and 

railroads like metal and stone

birds alive on infinite 

electric wire highways

connecting nest to nest

to nest

 

Hallelujah, this

pinned on my memory

until it's time to punch out

and participate.

James J. Hatfield is a Durham-based, displaced engineer who loves science and art, writes fiction and poetry, and other contradictions. He is a Weymouth Fellow, a Sterling Room For Writer's Fellow, and was a featured poet at the 2018 West End Poetry Festival. His work has appeared or is upcoming in Barely South Review, Chaleur Magazine, littledeathlit, Havik, and Orange Terror. He is a founding member of the Peebles Writing Collective. Insta: @jamesjhatfield

"I recently took a job at a factory. Quickly I discovered how soul-draining it is to be in a building without windows for ten hours a day. I worried about my writing and didn't see how I could dedicate my energy to both my job and my work (one is what sustains you financially, the other is your fulfillment). During my lunch I started doing a lap around the plant and found these picnic tables that face the road. Up and down the road are other factories, and I wondered where nature went. I imagined this what was happening to my soul. Then I noticed birds still flying, and their were still trees with nests in them. And that nature, life, adapts and lives. Chances are the birds thought it was more fun shit to fly around and sit on. When I went back inside it the brick walls seemed thinner. And the people, the machines, had it's own solemnity. It's more life to download and write about. I honestly have been writing more, even with less time to do so. 

Life, adapts and lives."