Grace Hasson, Author at MyUmbrella

The Ocean’s Fairy Dust

By : Grace Hasson January 10, 2022 Comments Off

“Are you gonna sweep that up?” I ask, as she tracks sand onto my welcome mat. “It’s the ocean’s fairy dust,” she says, and smiles with sunshine caught in her teeth. That night she takes off her coverup like a selkie shedding her skin. There are no scales underneath but I swear when the ocean speaks it speaks only to her. “Do you hear voices in the wind?” I ask her the following morning as I watch her close her eyes and hear the gulls and the breeze and the slow changing of the world. “Sometimes,” she says, “but I mostly just hear you snoring.” I laugh and pull her close as I fall asleep on a damp towel with her sandy legs pressed against mine. Her hair smells of

Wandering Soul

By : Grace Hasson April 24, 2021 Comments Off

I have a wandering soul. Or merely a single breath of soul that comes and goes. Winds whisk it away like a wish flower’s whispers. She taught me love is not solitary or safe, that we are all in danger all the time anyway so why not dive in headfirst. We said our souls were tangled like loose threads, and I almost started to believe. Years later I say “Whisk me away again” to the open blinds dripping with blurred night sky. So the universe let me walk beside men who taught me not to keep my fingers crossed so tight, and people caught between threads and sheets and wishes just like me. And I found myself again. And again. Even when I didn’t think I was lost at all—there

The Songwriter

By : Grace Hasson April 10, 2021 Comments Off

“Is it me?” I ask, leaning my head on her shoulder. The music is loud in the other room, but here, on a couch forgotten by the party, I’m able to ask what I’ve been waiting to ask. “Is what you?” she asks, putting her head on top of mine. Her hair is soft, like someone put feathers on top of my head. The couch beneath me is broken. A metal beam pokes up from under me like an unwanted guest. I shift, but the metal beam persists. “The girl you wrote that song about, it’s me, isn’t it?” She’s quiet for a long time and I wait. I listen to the music flowing into the room, the bass deep as the ocean. For a moment I’m lost in the

Purple

By : Grace Hasson April 10, 2021 Comments Off

The blues come and go like summer showers. They roll down my nose and into the tissue below. And the reds fade in and out. Girls with cheeks burning like embers stick around only when I’m at my lowest. People love to see me burn, but purple—when fire and frigid combine—it’s permanent. Mom was hot and cold at once. She wore a purple apron every day. Years later I feel her presence by the stove and I know I always will.

Sunset Secret

By : Grace Hasson March 10, 2021 Comments Off

My sun sets inside, tangerine clouds smile with white teeth. The sun, pink tongue at its peak. Orange galaxy reflected on the creek. Don’t ask me to take down a piece. The word love is not a good enough camera. Someone asks if I love them, the person waiting for me by the waves. But this kind of feeling can’t be named.

Lightning Strike

By : Grace Hasson February 14, 2021 Comments Off

“I’m gonna fall in love with you so fast,” she said, her eyes locked on mine. I could feel her heartbeat against my own. She was wrong, she never fell. I did. It didn’t come quick and sudden like the movies say. No lightning-strike-epiphany of love. It crept up on me like old age. One day you can see, the next day you’re squinting at road signs. One day you wake up and getting out of bed doesn’t feel as easy. The entire world feels off, but it’s not the world on a tilt, it’s you. A lighting strike did come. When she left. When she took everything that was hers except her mostly empty bottle of shampoo. The shampoo smelled like lavender. The kind that eases your weary thoughts.

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Author: Grace Hasson