I know I won’t be able to forget
the way the sun fell
across the room. That slant
lands on the part of me
I’m least willing to look at, so I tense
only the muscles I deem
worth the risk. Eventually I’ll notice
the withering and see all the space
left in its wake. Eventually you’ll wake
to a different way
of holding your same body
upright. And that’s the secret
no one told you because no one knows
what the word “pace” really means.
Half the time I’m taking baby steps
just to remember
what they’re like. Don’t count
out my ability to become
a spotlight. I’ve shocked a number
of nonbelievers into countless conversations
about the chemistry
behind shutting doors
at just the right decibel.
Real friends will unhook your jacket,
hold it up for you to sling your arms into
one at a time as a way of saying
“I want all of you to stay”
and there’s not one example I’ve found
to prove it untrue.
There are approximately no chances
left if you aren’t greedy
in a sense we’re all little kids
genuinely convinced we have control
over the wind or waves. And I’m saying why
not, but getting less and less
answers. Goodbye is just another hue
of loss you can only be so prepared for.
Consequences hover and hope rotates.
Don’t you know how easy it is
to fall in love with me
when I’m not paying attention?
Kelly Tierney is a dabbler in the arts—currently focused on theater, movement, and poetry. She resides in the quaint-as-always Northampton, Massachusetts. Her creative passions are varied and ever-multiplying, so she is mostly known for having so many ideas and so little time.