Poetry by Ashley Hajimirsadeghi

                       Jeff Ruane CC



PROJECTOR

I was twelve years old 
              when I first wished to die.
Before the depression I wore 
              red lipstick, smeared it 
all over dollar pizza & coffees 
               drenched with caramel. 
Baltimore couldn’t handle a 
               hurricane, I packed 
my possessions quietly & took 
               the devastation elsewhere.
Tonight I learned a little more 
               about butterflies
as a friend and I giggle our way 
               down the High Line, drinking in 
Chelsea’s lights. I go home and gaze 
               at my reflection in a Coca Cola 
can & god I hope I’m beautiful. 
               I’m beautiful, damnit, 
as breathtaking as Baltimore City’s 
               lights trickling    through the 
obsidian mouth of the Chesapeake. 
                In this lifetime I am now 
nineteen & throwing pebbles into the water, 
                 watching how reflections ripple 
against the night’s sky. A butterfly lives up 
                 to a week, the ones that migrate 
a little longer, says the struggling actor
                 working at Chelsea Market in 
between our chatter about theater. 
                  A butterfly with its wings 
decapacitated and placed in a bell jar 
                  is considered art. I hope I become 
rain instead, the tributaries
                  draining between your fingers. 

​



Rituals 

we lay                  my sister among 
               the dahlias and watch 
as the petals turn            a light red 
even accidents  can be constructed 
to become perfect          little mistakes 
Baba grabs            the canister 
of gasoline                           but Maman 
screams and flails           as she 
reaches for his                   heartbroken hands 
               No, she is still my daughter! 
she cries,         throwing her trembling 
                   figure over the corpse 
Maman’s dress drapes over sister 
the same way her heart             died with her 
  there’s no tears left in me          to cry alongside
              with Maman’s unsettling grief
    but Baba still                             lights the match 
and underneath the        night sky 
I cover my brother’s eyes 
              as the inferno consumes us 

​

Ashley Hajimirsadeghi’s work has appeared in Into the Void Magazine, Corvid Queen, among others. She is a poetry reader at Mud Season Review, attended the International Writing Program’s Summer Institute, and was a Brooklyn Poets Fellow. She can be found at ashleyhajimirsadeghi.weebly.com   ​

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