I’ve had pomegranates twice in my 17 years.
Each time, I was awed at how
something with such a mysterious foreign air
could hold so many intricate bursts of joy.
All I’ve got is the shell:
Mysterious to some,
foreign to most—
not alluring enough to be
cracked.
One day, I’d like
to be someone's
pomegranate.
The moon whispers
Oh so quietly, yet
It is louder than all else
Its words wind through the frozen trees and dance across the sparkling snow, the forest still but for its wavering reminder that
It is our spotlight, and we, the actors upon its stage.
For though the earth is the magnet that pulls the moon in, there is no earth
without the moon
No yellow, blinding light without rays as soft as a pillow in night
No vibrant green without barren white
No darkness without stars, without a glow out the window after awakening from sleep.
For as the earth pulls the moon, the moon pulls the earth
pulls the tides of the ocean, on whose waters we rock, draws the eyes of each creature, each bird in its flock,
And so on its arrival we wait
After each
and every
turning
of the clock.
To be quiet more. Be angry less. Watch shows and read books and listen to music people recommend to me, and not forget. Cry, without anxiety, embarrassment, fear or shame. Trust. Bite at the skin of my lips less. Sing more. Remember to put lotion on my hands—the winter always makes them so dry. Read some, stop, start again. Give myself true grace. Eat before one PM. Stop dreaming about leaving and live where I’m at. Pay closer attention to my curls. Pet the cats. Hug my brother. Text my best friends goodnight. Workout with the intent to get stronger and not just to look better. Turn my phone off. Floss my teeth. Try new perfumes. Pass my math class. Make more money. Get more tattoos. Get more sleep. Call my grandma. Call my other grandma. Fold my socks. Stop blaming stupid shit on timing. Take accountability. Learn how to make more meals. Buy less plastic. Try spicier foods. Book my first solo flight. Get comfortable disappointing people. Make my dad laugh more. Make my mom relax. Write whenever I need to—in class, at home, in the bathroom. Perfect my handshake. Fix my posture. Scream if I need to scream. Release my shame.
Forgive.
Forgive.
Forgive.
There's something about this photo that has me picturing the dancers who will wear these, thinking about their lives and stories and what brought them to dance. It's great.
Aw thank you so much, that means a lot! I'm a dancer myself , and ended up buying one of these leotards while I was visiting the store in NYC recently! Yumiko is a very nice Japanese leotard brand, so I was ecstatic to see the vast array in person. I can't wait to wear my new leotard to ballet class in 2026! I absolutely love expressing and inspiring when I dance, so I'm glad my photography inspired you to think about the stories us dancers so passionately create with our movement :)
That’s so cool!
Photographed in the Upper West Side, NYC
you'd drive home in the winter and think it was so late and you still do. and the stars would appear as pinpricks of light, ever so far away, and the moon would hang low in the sky as if welcoming you, and to a child in the backseat the world looked like a painting you could have made yourself.
title inspired by the excellent poem "what the light was like" by amy clampitt
The Downey Woodpecker eating from a bird alone, for the temperature was 2 degrees.
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