Jeremiah Ray

I tested the waters

dipping my toes

But the lake was made of silence

that had turned a perfect blue

I would get so close
I could almost reach out and examine my feelings.
But the ‘almost’
felt like unbreathable glass.

What started as a ripple became a wave,
then a thunderous tsunami.
The water was just the sound of a promise
learning to forget itself.

“…a different time and place,”
I would tell myself.
But time was like a folded map,
missing the ink for the mountains I needed.

I take pride in my memory,
but I can’t recall this minor detail.
It was like a breath
that my mind’s library refused to record.

I heard her ask about the bus. “No, it goes to Concord.” However, the tone of “No” was already blending into the weariness of travel.

The calendar blurred the boundaries between the days;
navigating silently,
here we are.

She returned to the smoking booth,
where the air seemed to have forgotten how to be shared.

Yes, I did once.
The permission was only visible
when I kept my eyes closed.

Yes, I did once.
The permission was only visible when I kept my eyes closed.