j_wesley's profile

Awake! Awake! I knew summer was making its way to my house because the mockingbird was perched in the pine tree in my backyard. He was on Eastern Standard Time, but did not consider that as he called me awake with his raw melodies. I rolled my eyes from the dark ceiling and aimed them through the window pane at the tree branch by branch looking for his roost. Jealous that the sun could continue to sleep through such racket, I separate my body from my bed and drop my feet to the floor, followi...

This Poem Is A String I remember when I first learned that my heart is a kite tied to the end of a string that the wind put in its pocket like some curious thing it picked up alongside the road. At the other end is your vigilant clasp and steady eye watching for any falter or dip that would send me tumbling to the earth. I remember the sound of your feet in the grass as you ran to toss me to the wind and the hands of the air rushing past the trees to catch me. Am I now, against this thick bl...

Hannah Love is a palindrome with you&I at either end- equilibrium of candle-lit dinner plates that exists as we tangle our fingers like roots that follow our arms and bloom in our chests. were we not so juxtaposed we would simply be syllables and letters- yarn not yet knit into a sweater, two woolen lengths idle and nearby. And so we are- letters and syllables that hold hands and discuss the symmetry and beauty in spending the rest of our lives as a word that is closely woven and warmest in ...

Lovers With her eyes she stabbed him repeatedly. Between them the silence cut far deeper than any knifed word could, and deeper than I could observe of this isolated impact crater that I could only guess was once her beating heart. I could not tell you what he said. I only just came upon them like this. Her porcelain eyes welled with the heavy tears that came from deep within her body where only a wounded lover’s soul bleeds. In one swift motion, graceless and shamed— and no sooner than I had...

What God Has Joined Her soft hand trembled to finish every word Of every letter that ever cleaved heart from men In that deafening paradox every time unheard, Unforeseen, and always un-forgiven. And after charmed pursuits until men’s soles are worn, Polite platonicity is the slowest, sharpest tear That any man has ever had to mourn, the deepest weight any man has had to bear. An old man with white whiskered face— Solitary figure sits in the corner by the tree In the evening in a clean, well-l...