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Julia Wehner: to feel, and to live
Ghost and Longing’s Clothes
- Ghost
- my romances are packed
- in an empty box
- spaceless
- slid clean across cold tile
- making faces that
- mimic
- art
- tricked
- into a large heart
- only bricks and buds to house
- in this smoky dining room
- with a couch
- and blushing knees
- to brush and
- press
- hungry still
- perhaps could ponder less
- but what past is there
- to see besides dinners i
- couldn’t eat
- no there is some old
- old word that billows
- both breathed and
- unheard ripping clean
- through centers of frozen
- wrists with a touch
- sublime
- Have I…
- (have i been
- a lover in my sleep
- this whole time?)
- Longing’s Clothes
- Nothing that perfectly fits.
- A painter’s torn and billowed cuffs; a thin dress
- awarding no favors to figure, yet tinted an ideal green
- to sit seven inches, in a trailing drop, below
- the ripe heart of a bloomed eye.
- Cottons and linens spaced away from the skin, causing
- mere brushes in inhaling to collapse the notion that
- feeling every large thing at one time is unreasonable, or
- remotely under our control.
- It’s all in the clothing longing wears.
- And it’s what I wear on these evenings.
- I quietly reboil the same cup of tea. I wait
- for my brain to grasp some new way
- to talk about it. I loathe everything I see
- that he has never touched. Fumes of longing,
- scatterings of ribbons — nothing that perfectly fits.
- I sit — motionless — by the open window.
- Faint gusts funnel through my loose sleeves, and
- my breath pushes my arms to meet
- the thread. Behind blue lids, I watch you
- wash the dinner dishes, cradling them in
- the warmth of a frothing sink.
- I unravel.
Julia Wehner
Julia Wehner has been writing poems since her first poetry unit in the third grade (the birthplace of such works as “If Only I Could Marry Food”). Her largest dreams for the future include composing piano music, educating her future children in the art of noticing, and cooking every meal with home-grown fresh herbs. She hopes to tell honest stories through everything she writes, innovating commonly-felt human emotions in an attempt to catch readers off guard: to remind them how richly good it is to feel, and to live.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Julia Wehner: to feel, and to live
Ghost and Longing’s Clothes
Julia Wehner: to feel, and to live
Ghost and Longing’s Clothes
- Ghost
- my romances are packed
- in an empty box
- spaceless
- slid clean across cold tile
- making faces that
- mimic
- art
- tricked
- into a large heart
- only bricks and buds to house
- in this smoky dining room
- with a couch
- and blushing knees
- to brush and
- press
- hungry still
- perhaps could ponder less
- but what past is there
- to see besides dinners i
- couldn’t eat
- no there is some old
- old word that billows
- both breathed and
- unheard ripping clean
- through centers of frozen
- wrists with a touch
- sublime
- Have I…
- (have i been
- a lover in my sleep
- this whole time?)
- Longing’s Clothes
- Nothing that perfectly fits.
- A painter’s torn and billowed cuffs; a thin dress
- awarding no favors to figure, yet tinted an ideal green
- to sit seven inches, in a trailing drop, below
- the ripe heart of a bloomed eye.
- Cottons and linens spaced away from the skin, causing
- mere brushes in inhaling to collapse the notion that
- feeling every large thing at one time is unreasonable, or
- remotely under our control.
- It’s all in the clothing longing wears.
- And it’s what I wear on these evenings.
- I quietly reboil the same cup of tea. I wait
- for my brain to grasp some new way
- to talk about it. I loathe everything I see
- that he has never touched. Fumes of longing,
- scatterings of ribbons — nothing that perfectly fits.
- I sit — motionless — by the open window.
- Faint gusts funnel through my loose sleeves, and
- my breath pushes my arms to meet
- the thread. Behind blue lids, I watch you
- wash the dinner dishes, cradling them in
- the warmth of a frothing sink.
- I unravel.
Julia Wehner
Julia Wehner has been writing poems since her first poetry unit in the third grade (the birthplace of such works as “If Only I Could Marry Food”). Her largest dreams for the future include composing piano music, educating her future children in the art of noticing, and cooking every meal with home-grown fresh herbs. She hopes to tell honest stories through everything she writes, innovating commonly-felt human emotions in an attempt to catch readers off guard: to remind them how richly good it is to feel, and to live.
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