Weekly Poem: ‘Using a Hula Hoop Can Get You Abducted By Aliens’

BY Victoria Fleischer  July 15, 2013 at 3:53 PM EDT

By Matthea Harvey


  We’ve never taken anyone
  buttoned up and trotting from point A
  to point B—subway to office, office to
  lunch, fretting over the credit crunch.
  Not the ones carefully maneuvering their
  watchamacalits alongside broken white lines,
  not the Leash-holders who take their Furries
  to the park three point five times per day.
  If you’re an integer in that kind of
  equation, you belong with your Far-bits
  on the ground. We’re seven Staryears
  past calculus, so it’s the dreamy ones
  who want to go somewhere they don’t know
  how to get to that interest us, the ones
  who will stare all day at a blank piece of paper
  or square of canvas, then peer searchingly into
  their herbal tea. It’s true that hula hoops
  resemble the rings around Firsthome, and that
  when you spin, we chime softly, remembering
  Oursummer, Ourspring and our twelve Otherseasons.
  but that’s not the only reason (Do we like rhyme?
  Yes we do. Also your snow, your moss, your tofu—
  our sticky hands make it hard for us to put
  things down). Don’t fret, dreamy spinning ones
  with water falling from your faces.
  It’s us you’re waiting for and we’re coming.

Matthea Harvey Matthea Harvey is the author of “Modern Life” (Graywolf, 2007), a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award and a New York Times Notable Book. Her previous books include “Sad Little Breathing Machine” (Graywolf, 2004) and a children’s book, “The Little General and the Giant Snowflake” (Tin House Books, 2009). She teaches at Sarah Lawrence College and is a contributing editor to jubilat, Meatpaper and BOMB.