PAULA HARRIS
I contemplate creepy behaviour, which led me to thinking about back when I danced Argentine tango and the older white dude who told me that he wanted to ride me like a filly across the Pampas, the same older white dude who once deeply inhaled while burying his face in Lorelle’s hair – which was an entirely deliberate action, given that Lorelle is over a foot taller than him – and told her how amazing her hair smelt, and I don’t want to be that kind of creepy
Simon once said to me that he finds it weird – creepy –
that some people will snuggle their face into the back of their lover’s head,
nose close to hair, nose close to ear
why would you want anyone smelling your hair? he said
it’s gross! why are people wanting to be close to ears?
I already knew the smell of Simon’s hair, of course, but I didn’t tell him that
Paula Harris lives in Aotearoa/New Zealand, where she writes and sleeps in a lot, because that’s what depression makes you do. She won the 2018 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize and the 2017 Lilian Ida Smith Award. Her writing has been published in various journals, including The Sun, Hobart, Passages North, New Ohio Review and Aotearotica. She is extremely fond of dark chocolate, shoes and hoarding fabric. website: www.paulaharris.co.nz | Twitter: @paulaoffkilter | Instagram: @paulaharris_poet | Facebook: @paulaharrispoet
