October 7, 2020 [part 2]

/ HJ / Leave a comment

i seem to be falling in love with this city
its bright lights of harsh daylight
and soft hues of glaring night

i am still an introvert in the world of countless people
but most of them seem to view ‘people’ the same way i do
so we mutually ignore each other

and yet

if protests and marches and keeping up with the roots of the grass
has taught me anything
it’s that we also have an eye out for each other;
we keep us safe
in these streets, our streets
and my love for this city
never would have reached these levels
had it not been for the community i’ve watched
grow.

October 7, 2020

/ HJ / Leave a comment

the moment passed
without much fanfare
of how long we’ve been living in NYC with
[rather than without]
a pandemic at our heels.

i thought it would feel different
but time hasn’t felt ‘natural’
since March.

the days pass in decades
and months are gone by the time you
open your eyes from a
blink.

it would have been
somewhere
around late July
and we’ve known more New York
within COVID
than out

and even if we track
for those weeks we stayed
preparing for the eventual move
and even if we track
for those weeks i visited
before knowing i’d ever
live here

let’s get all those weeks
out of the way
and add a buffer
and still

late September

and i’ve known more about COVID New York
Pandemic New York
Quarantine New York
than pre-any-of-this.

and yet
the whole effect of living in a place
in a quarantine
is that you don’t see the city
so maybe take out the days we were stuck inside?

but that’s more math than i’m willing to do right now
instead i’ll ask
has there really ever been a ‘real’ way
to live in
New York City?

October 2, 2020

/ HJ / Leave a comment

i first touched a lyra
(in order to play inside)
in 2010
and for six years
i didn’t touch one again
but from January 2016
to March 2020
i never stayed away more than three weeks
it’s been 6 and a half months
it’s been 6 months
two weeks
three days
since i last touched a lyra
(since i last touched any circus apparatus)
(since i last knew what it was like to fly)
and i am not expecting a lot
from tomorrow
i know my muscles have weakened
my flexibility has lessened
my (un)calloused hands can’t hold myself up
nearly as long as
once they did
i am not expecting much
because the world is still uncertain
and a virus is still ‘at loose’
and i know anything, absolutely anything
could happen
but i hope i get to remember what it felt like to fly
to be truly free
truly in the moment
(to enjoy being alive)
and i hope
for one hour
i can fully experience that all
again
and maybe plan for
a next time.

September 20, 2020

/ HJ / Leave a comment

there is a silence
in the country
in the backwoods
that unnerves me

any creak of the house
or wind in the trees
sends my anxiety rising to levels
far above those rustling leaves
simply because it is outside the norm

in the city, there is a collage of noises every night
and you never know where anything is coming from
and you just learn that it is part of the auditory landscape
and it lulls you to sleep, like a very unique kind of white noise machine
the lullaby of the city
of sirens
harmonizing with three different genres of music
blasting out of un-mufflered cars
and the steady hum of the downstairs bathroom fan
somehow melding into the far away helicopter
distorted by distance
and they all cacophonize
into one quiet whisper
of ‘you’re safe
you’re safe
you’re safe
now go to sleep’
and you sleep better than
you have in weeks

(it feels so good to be home)

September 15, 2020

/ HJ / Leave a comment

the chill of changing seasons
with only a packed hoodie to protect
can make it difficult to do anything
but re-watch supernatural
and embroider tiny cacti
over thin blue lines
and snuggle under a blanket
and hope tomorrow will be warm enough
to explore
(again)

September 14, 2020

/ HJ / Leave a comment

[a letter to Louka the dog]

i hope, Louka, you are enjoying this vacation
and you find it a nice respite
from the loud scary traffic of New York

and i hope, Louka, you won’t be too devastated
when, in five days, we go back home
and no longer have forests to explore
and backyard decks to hang out on
and clean breezes to fill your lungs with.

and mostly, Louka, i hope that you do love us
and in everything are having a better life
than your first six years.

September 13, 2020

/ HJ / Leave a comment

when you wear a hoodie
with a skeleton dabbing
above the word ‘depression’
in New York City
no one ever bats an eye

but when you wear a hoodie
with a skeleton dabbing
above the word ‘depression’
in small town Vermont
multiple people ask you if everything’s ok

to which you reply ‘humor is a great coping mechanism!’
and then you quickly dab your way out of the Walgreens.