Chemical Burns



The moments collected

In oddly matched containers

Chipped Mason jars, heavily figured candy dishes, mixing bowls, test tubes and delicate crystal flutes

They sit on dusty shelves

In empty halls

Where no one ever goes

Each one is filled with a liquid

Sickly yellows, electric blue-whites, cloudy greens, pulsing angry oranges, night-shrouded blacks and crystal clears that smell faintly of salt

Sometimes…when things happen

You open the doors to the deserted palace

You follow your own sooty tracks through the echoing corridors

You find yourself stopping somewhere

To look at a vessel

You don’t want to  pick it up but you do

You want to turn and run through the endless galleries, out into the sunlight

But you don’t

You gently swirl the terrible mixture inside

And you are there again

Ensnared in those dark memories

The weight presses about you and you are breathless

Tremors rise in you and the container slips from your boneless hands

That fragile glass decanter, filled to the brim with incendiary liquid

Shatters on the floor and you are so ANGRY

Asking yourself again why these things happened

A terrible blaze ignites from the ghastly elixir

To engulf you again

But you are not consumed

You never are

Only scorched and blackened

You take a step and the ashes gradually flake away

One after the other until you stand outside the doors

You chain them shut again

And you think SOMEDAY, perhaps you can go back inside

Drain each and every bottle

Dust the shelves

Sweep the floors and open the shuttered windows again

To feel the light of the sun



-Jessie Henry



*Note:  Years ago, in reading one of Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child’s Agent Pendergast novels, I came across the concept of the Memory Palace.  A Memory Palace is a technique used to boost memory recall by the use of a spatial symbol (i.e. making a journey in your mind through a real or imagined place to help you retrieve specific facts).  At some point, the thought bubbled up in my head that instead of that, what if a Memory Palace was a place where one stored away the sad and frightening memories that we wished we could be free of.  Unfortunately, these things are still held within us, so no matter how much we wish we could move on or forget, we may still find ourselves sleepwalking back to those terrible times.  We scold ourselves later: “Why can’t you just get over this?”  “Grow up and live your life!”  “Yes, that was terrible and sad, but life goes on.”  We trudge away from that haunted place and promise ourselves that we will never go back.

I think we have to give ourselves the grace to understand that if we have a hard time healing from certain things, it is only because we have hearts and emotions.  A machine could easily move on from any setback, but is that what we want to be?    Stop feeling bad about yourself because sometimes that baggage comes back to you.  Every day, rise up and put one foot in front of the other.  Those things will lose their grip on you.  You survived and you are stronger than anything in those dark containers of memory, I promise.




The Hart


Last night I dreamt of the Hart

I brushed against his spirit long ago

But I remember it

The silvery wit, the smoky laugh and the glint of something precious inside

I pondered the fragments that fashioned him antler to hoof

All the tears and the delight

The strong and the weak

The light and the dark

The thousands of days that came before

Time flows on, but I did not forget

I see glimpses of him now and again

A figure in the distance

A tale to be read

The turn of a shoulder

A smile in the shadows

So in the darkness of my dream

When the leashes are off all our hounds

I tracked the stag

I knelt to study a marking

I peered through the emptiness of night

I saw the path twisted and broken

My broadheads and bodkins rattle gently in my saddle quiver

But he is safe

I think that if I were to finally fall down that well

If I came out the other side

If I tracked him through the green of the pine forests

The red canyons of false magic

And across the snows bound by the frosted sea

If I were to find him alone and unafraid

I think that it is only I whose heart would be pierced


-Jessie Henry






I walk down the beach and I step carefully

I am mindful of the names

The declarations of love

The sand castles, both graceful and crude

The art sketched out by driftwood or seashell

Even the random holes

These things were created by souls who gave their time

Their efforts

Their hearts

And the waves will take them soon enough

As the tides of time take us all eventually

But while we have this little space

We will write our words

Sing our songs

Draw our shapes

We will build things both majestic and humble

We will scratch out our holes

Perhaps someone will come along and see these things

Maybe they will know that we lived

And were in this place

And had dreams

-Jessie Henry