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It's All Inside the Wrist it's All Inside the Way You Time It.

by Shannon Adele

I’d really love to say things
Like there are flowers growing inside
Of my heart. Or, this is a new garden
Over old flowers. But I don’t think that
And I didn’t even think
Of those words.

When we drove
So far to Woodstock, but it wasn’t
That Woodstock. Just the one where every
House has its own forest and sometimes Mike Doughty
Plays shows in tiny liquor cabinets.

I remember how tense
Things got. You had your hand on
The stick shift, even though
Your car was automatic. I

Can’t remember if we were
Fighting or laughing. I just remember
How aggressive we got when you pulled
Off to get gas and we never made it.

That year you lived in Poughkeepsie,
You were the last stop from
me and Sleepy Hollow. We would sleep
all day until the steam
Hissing heat would pull us into oatmeal.
I remember the owl that lived
On top of the Catholic school
Across the street. It was winter
so we never heard children laughing
Or fighting. I knew the owl was
Plastic, but I still loved hearing you
Debate thoughts of clay and metal.

Now all I am is a photograph
Of your leaving, a black and white
Dog, and a bench scrawled “God was
Here”.

11/15/2007

Posted on 11/16/2007
Copyright © 2019 Shannon Adele

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Megan Guimbellot on 02/11/08 at 05:01 AM

ahhh this is amazing, the whole chaotic mess of it///absolutely brilliant

Posted by Katie Dean on 10/17/08 at 03:38 AM

its so vivid. i like the idea of you giving life to inanimate things... creating some other, less reality-based world.... really interesting

Posted by Meghan Helmich on 12/04/08 at 06:40 PM

jesus, where did that last stanza come from? i want to swim in that one. just close my eyes and sink to the bottom.

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