shir kehila

metaphysics of an impossibility


for some reason, tonight
you couldn’t stay—

shivers of regret make
a constellation under

your skin his sculptured face
bright like the nights of the north,

is now a seventeen-minute-old
memory: rapidly aging yet

refusing to die, once
again these perfidious legs

failed you couldn’t
stay. tonight

an avalanche of self lashing words
takes down the doors

of your sleep; maybe it was
your nervous laugh

on his couch—one year
and one continent earlier

or that silly resistance—the last cry
of a shared mother tongue

overflowing with absence, your room
is a loss land

of finite, expired eternities,
countless invincible question marks

and a single,
cruel certainty.

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shir kehila orner is a student of human ecology at College of the Atlantic, ME. this is her first publication.