Hana Widerman

This Is Truth, Fresh in the Kitchen like Flowers

I have this massive thing, this beast, and nowhere
to put it. This is how my mother and I
have always thought of art. My mother, crescent 

moon of white flowers in her hands, this delicate
wreath. Whenever I take photos of her
I make sure to capture her hands. 

It is not profitable. It is love. Love is the flowers hanging
upside down, drying on the kitchen cabinets
to be made into small gardens. This is a way 

of isolating love, condensing it into a usable
form. Dry out that green love. Let it seep
into a color that will last. Cardboard box 

with the dried pieces. She picks up a few
shrunken roses, turns them in the light
tentative and inspecting, like they are jewels 

or offspring—one step away from becoming
strange creatures. I am a strange creature on the side
writing our stories. I am ekphrastic. I learned the art

of braiding from her long fingers and the late nights
before sleep, the only time I allowed my hair
to be tamed. Even now our hair braided 

in the shower drain or wrapped around swapped
hair ties. I take my hair tie out as I leave the kitchen,
it is picked up by another hand. The fire of my art 

is my family like ivy. Ivy, invasive and full of rats
at the creek’s edge. Ivy pulled out by my mother.
Her head bows under the light as I pluck 

white strands. I adjust the distance between us,
the gaps of light. This is my wreath. I am a drier of words
and not flowers. I hang words upside down like bats 

to find them later. I hoard like a dragon,
the strange creature that I am. My mother sews a dress
so it fits my waist. We have bought the large size 

hoping it would fit. This is our kind of economy.
The beast of art, the beast of love. I want to send love
hunting for art. Love awake and noticing 

its edge. Love tilting the sentence
to fit a second subject.

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Born to a Japanese mother and an American father, Hana Widerman is a poet originally from California. She graduated from Princeton University with a degree in English and won the James Richardson Award in Poetry. She is currently an MFA student at Cornell University, where she was the 2024 recipient of the George Harmon Coxe Poetry Prize. Her poetry appears in The Journal, The Washington Square Review, The Offing and elsewhere.