Kathleen Hellen
licorice
After the premier of Ben-Hur
I never guessed
they filmed the battle in the back
lot in a tank, they dragged miniature chariots
behind miniature Andalusians.
The thoughts I entertained were purely
practical, like why I couldn’t have
a dog or can’t stay up to watch
late-night comedians. I didn’t ask
about the physics or the math,
how seas parted or angels danced on pins.
These questions were too big,
they twisted in my head like licorice,
as we sank into our seats, in darkened rows,
the widescreen flickering with images
of giant Roman friezes and 10,000 costumed
extras. I believed in Sister Beatrice, who pinched
your arm with bony fingers. In Sister Philomena
with her ruler as a stick. I believed the wicked
would be trampled but where did they get
all those camels?
Kathleen Hellen’s collections include Meet Me at the Bottom, The Only Country Was the Color of My Skin, and Umberto’s Night, and two chapbooks, The Girl Who Loved Mothra and Pentimento. Featured on Poetry Daily and Verse Daily, her work is forthcoming or has appeared widely in such journals as A-Minor, EcoTheo Review, Heavy Feather Review, Indianapolis Review, Notre Dame Review, [PANK], Prairie Schooner, Sixth Finch, The Sewanee Review, and West Branch, among others. She is the recipient of the poetry prize from Washington Writers’ Publishing House, and prizes from the H.O.W. Journal and Washington Square Review.