Hazel J. Hall
My hands find their way onto the spaces between the piano keys. Even when the amnesia takes me over, I know, / I will still remember music. / I can’t picture where the notes laid on the lines, but I know every feeling in my fingers, where they seek to belong. I will still remember music. / The sight of a morning sun was ten million lifetimes ago, but not this, not music. I can remember. / The creature at the piano bench does not seem to control the hands beneath, but / I will remember. / I can still remember. /
Is anyone listening? Come nightfall, will anyone know that this, this music, this evolution of sound, happened? I will still remember. / What am I once this song is over? I want to remember. / Don’t I deserve some happiness? I can remember. I will remember. / Has anyone ever been listening? I don’t want to forget this. /
I will remember. / I will remember. / I can remember. / I will remember. / I will
Hazel J. Hall is an 18-year-old disabled-queer writer and poet based in New Hampshire. She is currently pursuing an English degree and is working on their first novel. Their work has been recently featured in Wishbone Words, Healthline Zine, Spoonie Press, Sage Cigarettes, and Dream Noir, and is forthcoming in CLOES Literary, Vocivia Magazine, Tiger Moth Review, and Musing Publications, to name a few. If you would like an expansive list of their past works, you can find this information at hazeljhall.com/about.