in parentheses

Rosalie Hendon (she/her) is an environmental planner living in Columbus, Ohio. Her work is published in Change Seven, Pollux, Willawaw, Write Launch, and Sad Girls Club, among others. Rosalie is inspired by ecology, relationships, and stories passed down through generations.

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After my aunt died, I went to the car wash

I followed the rules:

I took my hands off the steering wheel
I took my foot off the petals, set the car in neutral

I let the track advance me,
perfectly timed with those ahead and behind

I watched the colorful lights,
the foam falling in a curtain,

the rollers with their felty tentacles,
gently smacking every surface of the car

I was perfectly enclosed, windshield opaque
red-blue-purple-green lights flashing

The falling water, the power drier
pushing every single droplet with inexorable force

The blinking sign telling me
drying, drying, drying, then finally, go

I just did as I was told, and for a few minutes,
everything made sense

 
Listening Party, Take 1
For Fer

The room filled with sound,
sound you have labored into being–
the riffs, the chords, the harmonies,
the musicians you coaxed and nudged and hired
to join you

Your ideas, rendered audible
Tangible
And we are the background,
not your music
Your music is the party,
the story come alive
of the places you’ve been
and how you’ve come out whole

Standing in the middle of a spiral staircase,
looking behind to your past,
lifting eyes to what’s ahead

The 80s style synths bump and urge,
the video game storyline is upon us
and the melodies wreathe and tangle,
weaving together into a larger whole
A bromeliad in your grandma’s garden,
sun shining on the rainwater
collected in its leaves
A tiny ecosystem, perfectly contained

You show us this, and more
Wordless and epic,
nostalgic and hopeful,
your sound transports us
for eight minutes, though
it doesn’t feel nearly long enough

Horseshoe Falls

The roar
The crystalline, sea glass shine
arcing over, graceful endless fall
River pouring itself forward,
no hesitation or doubt,
just full-throttle, pell-mell,
rushing

Mist rising, a torrent
Droplets glazing our upturned faces,
awe at the great expanse of
curtains of waves
hung vertical
for instant upon instant

We remember how small we are,
in comparison, swathed in red ponchos,
crowded shoulder to shoulder,
and the comfort in that–
in witnessing something massive
a force of nature
and reveling to see it,
the sunshine and the water
and the sheer joy, and
as the boat turns back,
the shared wonder pouring
from our throats in jubilant cheers

Canada goldenrod

It’s late September,
and the late season bees are rushing
from bloom to bloom, dangling
from the thin golden tubes of goldenrod

The eastern bumblebee with its fuzz,
the ochre-colored honeybee,
and even one blue scoliid wasp,
its wings blue-black in the late afternoon gray

Dream Journal # 14 (Two-Legged Lover)

He married a mer-woman.
It was convention.
The day of the ceremony,
I climbed to the tower.
I watched him swim effortlessly
round and round the lake.
Gold hair flashing, dolphin attendants grinning.
His tail, strong and powerful, whipped through the churning water,
scales glimmering.
His smile was bright,
though (I could tell) tinged with sadness.
That’s what I told myself,
as I wrapped my arms around myself.
The spurned two-legged lover.

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