© 2018 kate hoyle. 

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exhibit: U2 Joshua Tree World Tour 2017

america i.

and if we let our troubles fall

off the wire hangers of our bones

into the dirt

to rest until the rains come

to wash them

into mud rivers we coat our feet in

dance stories onto white canvas

and hang them to dry in the morning sun


would we remember our bodies?

absent of knots braided in twine

dyed in stars and stripes

weighted with burdens

buried under layers of surviving


would we recognize our faces?

clear in the dew

of tears allowed to fall

america ii.  -  from the attic, looking out the window


rain pours on rooftop sounds

echo wailing cries between trying to breathe

the city streets turn to mirrors blood runs

in gutters everyone is trying not to look down

fear of falling heart first into the reality

that would shatter us human again

have to pick up the shards of our brokenness

with hands stained in the blood of our brothers

we thought it wouldn’t touch us

through the gloves of good intentions and not saying something

but blood is thicker than this pretending

and louder than our silence

this blood on my hands sings symphonies of moments

his hands are missing

he would’ve been holding someone

holding the hands of his momma

her hands are now empty and crying grasping like the rain for someone to hold

but her baby is gone and there are corners of her smile that won’t again be reached

for all the times she turns the corner forgets and expects to see his face hear his voice come in the house askin for somethin to eat on a tuesday afternoon but he’s not there because there’s no hunger where he is

but she’s left in this painful world where we let each other starve

and take babies from their mommas and

there’s no hunger like a momma’s for her child that’s been taken

by the place she slaved to raise him up in

america iii.  - south


america iv.


we drive through hills of Ireland green

toward the desert

the snow-capped tip toes of the Sierras to our left

then Joshua trees and rows of empty royal blue dumpsters

there's a ceiling in the sky

a heavy bottomed floor of another world

maybe it's raining there

we pass a relic of our memory at a four way stop in the middle of the Mojave

just there with the blue roof like i remembered it

and powerlines drape between towers standing tall—giant trees in this dusty forest

a box car engine winds—a slow snake—around the sand dunes

we're traveling the great length of the basin

the floor of an ancient lake


i remember swimming here once

in the days when we were stars

america v.  -  heart