Jen Harvey

Tumbling down the hill, like your shadow

February 5, 2018

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Something is happening, you know that much. But you don’t understand. You are five and cannot know that death always comes sooner, rather than later.

Unfurl

January 14, 2018

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Jen

They cling to the branches a little longer this year, and it takes a second storm to scatter them. One rainy morning she rakes them into a pile, and the loamy smell sparks a memory. Abby’s voice caught in the drizzle. “I never know if this is the beginning or the end.”

Imagined words for snow and ice

December 20, 2017

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Jen

‘Cumulospiration,’ he said, and watched as she stretched out her hand and tried to grasp it. A small sigh as it vanished. ‘Gone,’ she said. And he shared her disappointment.

Now is the time to cross the line

November 28, 2017

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Jen

I drew a line of my own, but did not tell you. It followed the contours and undulations of your steadfast delineation. Rising and falling in parallel. Stretching forward to the horizon, to a point where the world falls beyond reach.

A Teacup Can Exist Without Your Gaze

November 24, 2017

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Jen

You could never know, of course, what a china cup could mean to someone. She knew that as she watched you drink and place the cup back in its saucer, casually, as if a cup was just a cup.