Blessed
Over breakfast the Devil came to me,belching sulphur all over my porridge.Big bristled hooves, forked tongue,three blinding breasts - heavy, round,the shade of koff candy twists.She offered me a one-eyed lamb's head,tight-lipped clam shells, a box of tampons.Her nipples cracked into a mapof Southampton, leaked honey,melted the cutlery.She squeezed the flaming teat into an antiquegoblet, mixed it with tears then slid itacross the table - drink me - etchedinto its base. She tasted sweetlike girlhood,peppered with a musk I had tasted before:my first experience with deathwhen Play died, finding used needlesburied inside window ledges,red inside white cotton,smeared up the middle like roadkill.Her flavour frenzied every bud,like ants spewing wings, taking flight.I felt one hundred hymens breakinglike bird skulls,hips tumescent and generous as the ocean,the smell of Golden Virginia,baked tarmac, lemon Shake n' Vac,the taste of Parma violets, crayons,microwaved milk.Through this mirage I saw mountainsof bubblegum taffeta, clear princesstiara gems, Anne Frank's diary -dog-eared, hair stuffed into Bic razorsand my first big-girl bedroom.Care Bears stood to attention as I entered -all white tummies, fat and full.And my old rocking horse restoredto glory, exactly how I kept her,with the bridle removed,a box stood in the nucleus of the room,inside smelt like pencil shavings, lilies.Stay here forever, the Devil said -braiding my hair with a coarse pawas the goblet topped itself up.I took a sip, kneaded into her lapand let sleep take me.Locusts fell from her cheeks.The sun laboured a look.
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- October 10, 2024
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“Blessed” from HOT SAUCE: by Kaycee Hill.
Published by Bloodaxe Books on 19 Oct, 2023.
Copyright © 2023 by Kaycee Hill.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Kaycee Hill, a working-class poet of mixed heritage, recently completed her MA in Creative Writing at the University of Bristol. A former Poetry Ambassador for Hampshire and Dorset, and winner of the inaugural James Berry Poetry Prize, Kaycee’s poems have appeared in Poetry Review, Five Dials, and in various anthologies. Her award-winning debut collection, Hot Sauce, is published by Bloodaxe Books. Kaycee’s latest project explores the concept of sonic inheritance, from the womb’s first heartbeats to the basslines of UK sound systems culture. Mentored by Malika Booker, Kaycee continues to push the boundaries of contemporary poetry.
Winner of the James Berry Poetry Prize
In her award-winning debut collection Kaycee Hill frankly explores coming of age as a woman – and the intricacies of connection and memory – against an urban-pastoral landscape.
Raging with vivid, smoky lyricism and full-blooded imagery, Kaycee Hill’s poems are both a beginning and a continuation. Reflecting on her life and those in it, as well as first-times, underground scenes and the female body, she looks towards what is unflinchingly personal, and also outwards: towards family and strangers, nature and place, and a world that shapeshifts before us.
Hot Sauce is a searing first collection that captures the visceral vulnerabilities of navigating life on the cusp.
'From dancehalls, grime raves, to prisons, kitchens and gardens, Kaycee Hill’s poems excavate an archive of memories with synaesthetic dexterity. A robin’s red breast transforms into “the thumping heart of a young naked ash tree”. And queuing crowds become “shoals of black sea bass". These poems of place transform the contemporary into a mythic lyrical landscape, where images like "I felt one hundred hymens breaking like bird’s skulls" conjure up a rich surreal tapestry with dark folkloric undertones. Nature is a vivid backdrop with filmic effect. The iconic music of Sade, Corrine Bailey Rae, Genuine, Diana Ross and the Supremes demarcate era and time. Kaycee Hill’s poems linger on the tongue like hot pepper sauce.' – Malika Booker
‘Kaycee Hill’s urban eco-poems are always awake to the beauty that can be found in unexpected places – from a makeshift bird-feeder to her mother’s "cinnamon stick / fingers busy making roll-ups". In this thrilling first collection, her lyric imagination takes us on a journey through the complexities of coming of age in a small working-class town. The heat of Hill’s sensuous imagery "rages down the throat", searing our tastebuds and leaving us craving more.’ – Aviva Dautch
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