Bad Hair Days
I imagine the bodies I run past
on dark foggy mornings, hands reaching,
grabbing my ponytail; jerking my head
around, smashing my cranium
on the concrete. Splitting my skull,
like the seedless watermelon
I dropped outside of Trader Joe’s
one afternoon last August. Juice
pools beneath like a wrung sponge.
I imagine it weekly. Repeating, re-
playing the lucid nightmare. This
morning walking to my car at 5:00 AM,
I heard quickly approaching
footsteps: someone running
towards me. I turned to see another
early morning runner, another
ponytail, & felt: relief. Unlikely they’ll
use my hair for leverage.
The MRI technician asked: did you
hit your head? I answer:
Hannah O’Leary is a photographer and writer who enjoys getting lost: in books, on single-track forest trails and in meandering conversation. She’s investigating the collision of image and word through the OSU-Cascades Low-Residency MFA.