Jaz Persing is a writer, singer, and human living in Los Angeles. She works in television when she can. The rest of the time she’s just looking for a dare-to-be-great situation, hoping she can put a good dent in the world with the mess of broken love, vulnerability, and words she has. In the meantime, she’s immensely grateful for God and the many good people around her that make it all seem feasible.

March Ides

Bed when all was in bloom.
The birds sang in pitch black
And I was confused, and you said,
“It’s mating season. But actually, they sing all year round”
And I knew then.
Or did I?

How often do we roll our eyes and then close them? 

I gathered my rosebuds
I made much of time
And there in the ides of March
I was never the same

Hurt people hurt people
I didn’t write that
There isn’t much I’m writing these days

Mostly just falling into lyrics
To make meaning of it all
All to draw a red sprawling string from A to B
And in my tangle over imagined cork
I am unraveled

Would you be free some evening
To unravel me once, twice, every way I imagine?
The asking stretches me thinner, thinner
To my own ends
I anticipate the snap any day now.

You’re not allowed, I think,
Even as I self-correct
This was the first
But when was the last
Time you stopped to let it all catch up
Let it drop
Because April is here
And everyone is older now
And I’ve run out of my audience
Who is left to watch me paint your portrait in a hall of heroes
With no photo for reference
And so little time to remember your face

Can I outrun tragedy
Or am I forgetting the middle ground
The every expanding tundra
The cold plateau we’re standing on

Do I always have to ask you to hold me?

Soon again I will be grateful
Soon again I will sing your praises
I’ll pick up my brushes, wearing wry well
I’ve had all the practice

Severing Thread

Sidelong Sicklove