Plucked Feathers

A Poem by Kelley Quinn

I used to doodle our names together,

hearts with arrows pierced through

them -

how romantic,

I thought - to be pierced by you,

right through the chest until

my breathing got tight,

until only your thin fingers on my ribcage

could soothe my rapid heartbeat.

I thought your hands, like ghosts,

could pass through my skin and

fix all the broken ribs,

cracked from the times I had fallen,

hard, in love with those that

never loved me back -

like men in airports

with leather backpacks or

women with two long braids

who I make eye contact with

in the bathroom mirror.

I used to write about you like

you were some goddess I could

never fully touch -

you would always have a body

halo, leaving me a

millimeter too far from your skin.

I used to write about you like

there would one day be an us,

a we,

but too many downtown nights,

too many eyes on you without

yours on mine.

I had to stop writing about you -

but you knew what you did to me

with your soft tongue and warm lips.

You knew and I tried to stop

writing about you, but every

time, somehow, you came out.

I used to write about you all the time

And maybe that’s where I went wrong -

I exhausted your beauty.

I wrote about you like you were

a true creation of god in moments

when I no longer believed in a

higher power and yet there you were.

I know better now.

Leave me to heal the ribs you had cracked

when your hand passed through my skin,

cold as a ghost, breaking every part of me on the way back out.

© 2017 Kelley Quinn

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Cobblestone Traveler

I -love- the way you write.

"You would always have a body halo, leaving me a millimeter too far from your skin." You describe it so effortlessly and I have spent ages trying to wrap my head around the feeling.
The journey of self-awareness and empowerment is an amazing one. Well done!