C.N.P Poetry 

  • Cathexis Northwest Press

Hallelujah This

By: James J. Hatfield



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."

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