Two Pieces

Jordan Hanson

We Cannot Choose but Weep

After John Everett Millais, “Ophelia”

“Larded all with sweet flowers

Which bewept to the grave did not go

With truelove showers.” (Hamlet, 4.5.38-40)

Your eyes are open, watery blue

Reflecting the last thing you will see:

Sky winks through green 

Willow branches, the same 

That held you while you cried.

Their fingers wave a sad goodbye

As your hair whirls,

Waterlogged among scattered garlands.

Poppies, pansies,

Withered violets, 

Long purple dead men’s fingers.

They swirl together and drag down your skirts

With remembrance,

Repentance, 

Sorrow.

Some say you fell,

Some whisper you jumped.

Acting offstage, the truth dies with you: 

A vessel cracked 

By madness, letting on too much water,

Sinking, sinking. 

The robin, your joy,

Sings harmony with your dying songs

Only to hush when your voice

Falls quiet as still water.

You could be floating

In a dream, cheeks flushed

From the cold,

Lips parted in a final note.

The water embraces you

Like he never could.

Gently, the water rocks 

And the robin sings

Goodnight, goodnight. 

Gardens

These paper blooms,

Delicately crafted by steady hands

Cutting and folding, 

Twisting and painting, create 

A never fading garden:

Spring tulips, daffodils,

Trailing purple morning glories,

Soft pink peonies, tiger lilies,

And sunflowers 

As big as my head.


I sit in a white 

Rocking chair

Surrounded by art:

Artificial blossoms,

Blue walls,

Speakers piping

Summer sounds,

Cicadas and chirping birds.

I see snow through the window

And I long for home, where


My mother knelt,

Trowel in hand.

We ignored our fingernails

And dug under the sun,

Enfolded in our garden:

The sharp sound of metal against dirt,

The shine of pale pink worms,

The fresh, earthy smell

Of good Iowa soil,

A hose spraying water,

Rainbows in the sunlight.

I crave the green of everything,

The wobbling bumblebees,

The cradle of the bright blue sky,

The smell of growing things in

The place where my mother’s hands

Turn the earth. 

Jordan Hanson (she/her) is a queer, chronically online writer based in Philadelphia. Her work has been published in orangepeel magazine and Ghost Girls Zine, among others. You can find her (and pictures of her cat) on Instagram and Twitter @jordanehanson.