Once fall sifted through
summer, our light turned
murky, sides of houses
and tops of trees swam
in a glow half-nauseating.
When we were young
we knelt beside the season,
capsized. Life still billowed
above us then, like a sheet
lifted in the air by
older hands before sleep —
a show of comfort
against watered down days.
When our hands
become the older ones,
do we swell the air
above younger sorrows
or simply create heat?
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More About
Helen Carey
Helen Carey is a recent college graduate working at a marketing company in New York City. Prior to this, she worked as a copyeditor at a chain of local newspapers in New Jersey, and also held an internship at the PEN American Center in New York. She draws inspiration from a variety of artists, writers, and thinkers -- Frank O'Hara to Willa Cather, De Kooning to Krishnamurti, Chaplin to Bob Dylan. Through her writing, she aims to show the beauty in the simple, the mundane, and the ugly.