All bleeding must come from something pulsing, alive. I have marked my path unintentionally, the journey sanguinary yet lasting. The Machines made a mistake. For when curiosity enters the mother wound demanding answer to how much farther I can go, I stagger to the site of their reckless abandonment, remnants of pre-cubicle times: the gift of a tree trunk. Miraculously unchopped and wrapped in ribbons of ivy, my tickled spine settles in recline atop tendrils stretching unabashedly, circling the bark toward their ever-present sun. I let more of me spill out—the loathing, the cynicism, the moments lost to both— before claiming a coil to bind corporeality in Nature’s garland, making it stay. Evergreen welcomes this sticky varnish, patient with the infancy of fingers just beginning to recall their confidence as they tug for more length, set to adorn my thigh. And the gash; it is no more than an open lid on the paint can of my flesh, undulating ruby pouring onto the masterpiece, vines twisting in all the ways I tie myself to me: the red juice of adolescence dripping from bitten strawberries (sugar-dipped, the only way I’d accept fruit), this defiance returning in teenaged bailing-on-synagogue to try on tank tops and rebellion, and this voice, coveting audiences from inception, stuffed listeners congregating against my headboard before I climbed onto the bed and into the story, pages facing the audience of Elephant and Mr. Turtle as I read from periphery, as I decided all good teachers did, as I still do. And when my body is covered in rings of remembrance, when I have taken each leaf in pinched embrace and learned its name before greeting the next, I do not wish the forest had mirrors. I tighten the tourniquet and trust I am perennial.
This poem was developed for Intonation, a cross-national creative collaboration between North American poets, dancers and choreographers from Montclair State University, as well as early-career musicians and students of musical composition from the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance.
“When All I Have Are Seeds” thereby features original poetry by Blake Harrsch, choreography by Delise Fusaro and Jordon Woolridge, and composition by Naama Levy, all specifically created for this project.
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As a thematic foil to Alexis Telyczka’s “the way we bleed,” another poem featured in Intonation, we chose to merge our finalized works to produce a joint piece:
“Ichor, Then Ivy”
To achieve this, we abridged our original poems into a call-and-response structure, merging our poetic voices alongside the interwoven choreography and compositions of our collaborators.
Together, we reckon with the violence of womanhood and celebrate the strength required to survive it.
Watch our performance below.
To experience the complete cross-national collaboration of poets, dancers, and composers of Intonation 2025, watch all performance clips here.
Harrsch, Blake. “When All I Have Are Seeds,” Intonation, part ii of “Ichor, Then Ivy.” ARTS By The People. April 2025.
blake harrsch 