The Poet & Her Sky and other works by Kelcy Wilburn


Kelcy Wilburn lives and works in New Orleans. Her poetry will be featured in the forthcoming issue of YAWP: a Journal of Poetry & Art. She attends the University of New Orleans.


The Poet & Her Sky


She drops her words through a hole in her pocket. Fortunately, she feels them brush the hairs of her leg. Gently picking up each one, she saves her words and carries them home. She lines them up like trophies on a mantle and reads them, their little plates, from left to right. In the evening, she goes to the coffeehouse for French roast. She donates $1 to poetry. Here you are, Sylvia. Here you are, Anne. A sexy poet. She'll be one of the few. Walking outside, she looks to the stars. The sky is something to be held. Something to be coddled like a baby, welcomed like a holiday. And here I am, being held and welcomed, still wanting to feel something for something I never felt.



In the movement from summer to fall
there is a moment between
filled with a long and heavy sigh.
Unsure, the maples hold.

Once, her head fell to the ground.
Sadness like wet hair hung in strands,
laced through fingers holding a weight
they did not want. The weight
did not want them either. The concrete
waited below and held no opinion.
She decided it wasn't worth the wait.

Maybe more than once,
if the leaves do turn,
there is slight relief
in the relativity of things;
ghosts persist,
someone blinks,
the maples respond.