A hall
made for beer
and wine
I feel like a lie,
and step out
into open air
take a sip.
“Hi.”
Meet an eye.
“What?”
I trip in.
A word
or two
or five
an hour
or ten
one more
one more.
What?
Five.
AM??
Can it be?
Let slip
my cards
my mask
my fizz
Let hip go
huh?…?
With the tip
of a hat,
a hand —
“Your hand,
I say,
“rest it here,
here,
on the soft bone
of my chin.”
Trip.
Kick.
Fall.
What
Are
Feet?
I did not mean
to come
here.
Days like a year.
What is time.
Then,
“Lean in”
They say,
a grin,
“This time,
as you fall,
fall and find
my hand,
my ear,
my care,
and then,
only then,
you may
find my lip.
I’ll hold your fear,
hold it dear,
my dear,
now and all the way
to el fin—
ya know?
The end.”
A simp,
I take
this in
like a sin,
like a kiss,
a kiss,
of a mind,
who am I
to get
a kiss
such as this.
Wow.
Ow, ow, ow.
Yell it
Loud!
A love
like a good
weap
a soft coat
to keep
the cold out
and the warm in.
we found it,
a fire,
trip slip kick,
take a blow
to the shin
as we fold in,
not fast
but fast
we fall in
out of the snow
oh oh oh
Here we go—
New.
Love.
Wow.
Yell it
loud!
Ow, ow, ow.
Ow, ow, ow.
Ow, ow, ow.
A win.
About the Creator
Jen Parkhill “JP”
Jen Parkhill “JP”, a first generation Cuban-American artist and proud member of the LGBTQIA+ community. Cat dad, writer, filmmaker, actor, friend, and graduate of the Tisch School of the Arts, NYU.
Hurling through time.
@jenparkhill
Comments (3)
Congratulations!
This, has been the only poem worth it's salt from the judges selections. Thank God for you.
Congratulations, Jen! 🎉