Category: Uncategorized
The Streets of Ha Noi
Mountains that kiss the clouds. Orange & blue roofs along dusty dirt roads and row crops, so many row crops. Lakes set perfectly in the crevices of the valleys and ranges below. Then the dirt is suddenly covered in concrete and tar that leads to a humble city, the city of lakes.
Roaring, flooded rivers of motor scooters dancing.
The sweet smell of cardamom wafting from large steaming pots of Pho.
Twisted roots of Banyan trees crawling through the broken pavement.
Roosters in wire baskets, dogs chained to trees.
Plastic swan boats float back and forth, back and forth escorting a young couple across one of the many small lakes of the city.
The day’s dirty dishwater tossed away, splashing across the black tar.
Shopkeepers sweeping the sidewalks with their grass broomsticks between passerbys.
Children laughing and screaming, playing soccer in the courtyard.
Villagers squatting beside their fragrant, colorful baskets full of bananas, citrus, tubers, dragon fruit, and fresh herbs.
Loud chatter and the sound of a billiard hall fill the alleyway.
A skinny, rickety 3 story hand-laid brick building neighbors an elaborate French colonial memento.
my senses
To Weston Call, and those who you left a mark on… For you, I will live in this shell more intently.
In this shell, we are gifted five, some believe six, ways to experience a moment.
To hear… the waves crash on the shore, the songs of the birds echoing across the canyon, the ripple of water splashing around polished stones, the car horns on Broadway, the elevated NRQW subway train careening around the corner, the warning of a venomous snake, the unrestrained laughter from your best friend, the sobs of a stranger in the girl’s bathroom, your heart when it breaks in two.
To taste… the sweetness of the thick cold fog, the herbaceous dew drops sucked off spring tips on the redwood branches, the creaminess of your grandmother’s cooking, the saltiness of a mouth full of ocean, the bitterness of an unripened fruit, the salty lick of your lover’s skin, the savory burning on your tongue.
To smell… the wet floor of the forest, the cinnamon buns baking in the oven, the apple pie your mother made, the meat on the grill your father is manning, the sweetness of pines under a full moon, the skillet of bacon crackling in your first home, the abundance of sagebrush in our secret mountains, the lingering spice of tobacco on your fingers.
To touch… the droplets of water from above, the caress of your lover, the shaves of sand holding on to your skin, the soft blades of grass beneath your feet, the coat of your favorite pet, the embrace of your loved ones, the pounding of the waves against your chest.
To see… the smiles across the faces of strangers, the green flash over the ocean, the milky way in the dark Big Sur sky, the lights illuminating the coziness of the houses in your neighborhood, the autumn colors, the golden grass in the wind, the desert at sunset, the lock of curls brushing her shoulder, the new kittens chasing their tails.
Hinterland
This. Unfettered.
It’s calling me to the road that breaks through the horizon,
Just past the fog hanging in the boundary between sky and earth.
Go with me.
Run with me to our naked, sandy shores.
Swim with me in our holy, blue water.
Climb with me to our forests gripping mountain tops.
And sleep with me under our billion, blinking stars.
Devil in the Redwoods
Waiting for the devil to lie me down.
A box car junkie riding the train to the dark edge of town.
Tangled these curls and tortured this heart.
Left with a moonless night sky,
with the wind whispering behind.
The ramblings of a forgotten song, left echoing in this god forsaken, shanty town.
Waiting for the devil to turn around.
Covered in dust, wrapped in jewels.
Always wishing the right kinda woman could turn him right.
The patterns of these finger tips have connected every star in this West County sky.
I always knew someday I’d have to say goodbye.
I was only hoping for the river to wash him clean.
The water will smooth these rolling stones, but will never wash away a sinful heart.
He lives a loneliness only the devil can survive.
Battered and bruised by the choices I have made.
Lost in these woods, breathing life into me.
I was waiting too long on the devil to set me free.
Sing Me Out
Sing me out of sadness,
Shine the moon on my heart.
Fill my reservoir that is now shallow.
Distract me from the sinners
who stripped me from this world.
Crack this concrete that has been poured beneath my feet.
Take me to the forest so I may feel small beneath the trees.
Sing me out of sadness.
Shine the moon on my heart.
Lift this heavy weight from my weak shell.
Laugh so I can feel real,
And let me sing again.
Of Oneself
We exist in our skin.
Every second of every day we lie beneath these bones.
Thirty years with this blood, these organs, and these emotions, and I still feel unfamiliar.
This body is fierce.
This body is weak.
This body is mine.
A Familiar Place
finding myself in this familiar place
swimming through the memories
the tips of my toes touching the water first
breaking through the surface
swimming with the fish and the turtles
the muffled sounds of the world above us
climbing back on the splintered wood
the paint chipping and the dragonflys loitering
the dogs barking
the small waves banking on the sea wall
the thin towel under me
reflections of the sky in the droplets of water on my skin
the golden light wrapped around me
finding myself in this familiar place
walking through the memories
the tips of my toes poking through the grass
smelling the same summer evening blooms
the fireflys teasing me in the meadow
the sound of fireworks cracking across this lake
getting back in my head
that familiar place
swimming through the memories
lingering longer with certain ones
wondering how the time goes like it does
and sinking in to the happiness of where that time has taken me
Courtney & Peter say “I do!” in Big Sur
Assistant Photo Editor Tear Sheets
Samantha Harmon 