Ode to Blonde

My freshman year dorm room was on the fourth floor, the highest point in the whole building, and in the evening it was impossible to see.

Grandmother's Song

My grandmother always stands in the driveway until everyone has driven away. How many departing headlights have swept over her in the night?

Personal Essay, MusicHana WidermanSeptember 24, 2019

Circles

When I listen to Maggie Rogers’ “Falling Water,” I always hear I never loved you fully in the way I could so deeply, completely.

When I think of the word hag, I think of the greying light beyond the horizon before a storm. I think of possibility hanging heavy in the air.

The Art of Letting Go

When I recommend a song to someone else, I am sharing multiple variations of myself.

Even from the beginning the stage never felt like home. Every second spent gazing into the faces of hundreds I wasted fazed, flaming.

Eyes open; sunlight pressing its tired hopeful nose against the horizon.

$VII: Aubade | Uncomposed: "Refractions of Light"$

I have wanted to leave home since I was thirteen years old, and the desire sings in my ribs even more strongly now.

Our lives are composed of cycles within cycles.

Dawn is portentous as any moment.