top of page

Tell Me a Little About Yourself...

by Lisa Hartsgrove


Macro of a dandelion seed head with white fluff and a few brown seeds left, against a soft gray blurred background.
Image credit: Juan Francisco Garcés on Unsplash

As a child, at every opportunity to make a wish, I wished for a dog. 

Later, I began wishing simply for things to remain good.

I can’t tell you what I wish for now, else it might not come true.

 

I got my dog. Things aren’t great but they are remaining good.

My life is gooder than good. But to say great is to ignore the war.

 

I’ve spent a lot of time ignoring wars. 

Or being ignorant. Which isn’t really the same thing.

 

I have a terrible sense of direction but a good sense of judgement.

 

Once, I flipped a rock over and found hundreds of snakes.

It was probably more like tens of snakes, but I remember it as hundreds.

I often remember things bigger than what they are. 

 

I used to keep a book where I marked down every kiss I ever kissed,

just so I wouldn’t forget them 

but after a while, I forgot to update the book.

 

Once I kissed a boy (whose name I didn’t know)

in a church

and we got in trouble for being inappropriate. 

I never saw him again. Unless I did, but I didn’t know it was him. 

 

Once, I kissed a woman (whose name is also part of my own)

at a lighthouse 

after we jumped the barricade to get in after hours.

We didn’t get caught, so we didn’t get in trouble (except when we did). 

I saw her in my dreams before I ever met her. She haunted me a long time after. 

 

I collect fallen whiskers from my cat 

and display them in a small vase like flowers.

 

I’m an only child, but I grew up with cats like siblings. 

Lisa, feed your brother. Lisa, let your brother in.

 

I always wanted a dog, but I still like cats the most. 

Even after I got my dog. And another.

 

I think nothing is real and everything is a simulation of reality.

I overthink.

 

But I don’t think enough about the war.

Except maybe now when I’m making a wish. 

But I can’t tell you that, else it might not come true.


***

Black-and-white photo of a smiling woman kneeling in a garden, holding a small pot labeled MAKE SOME WOW, with house and plants behind her.
Lisa Hartsgrove

Lisa Hartsgrove is program coordinator for Project Write Now, a nonprofit transforming individuals, organizations, and communities through the power of writing. Among others, she has been published in Friday Flash Fiction, Honeyguide Literary Magazine, Discretionary Love, and The Pitkin Review. She also took first place in the 2019 Laury Egan HBAC Poetry Contest. You can read more about her at lisahartsgrove.com.

Comments


Commenting on this post isn't available anymore. Contact the site owner for more info.

©2020-2026

redrosethorns. All rights reserved.

UK: redrosethorns journal (online) · ISSN 2978-5316 · redrosethorns Ltd. · Reg. No. 16437585

USA: Thorn & Bloom Magazine (print & digital edition) · ISSN 3070-9474 · redrosethorns Ltd. Liability Co.

redrosethorns magazine back issues are available.

 ISNI: 0000 0005 2871 9081

bottom of page