In Which the Sky
Blue jays screech above her house—a box on the stairs tips open (empty), but she never says lonely. She loved a man once for the look of him and his hands (the way his knuckles whitened when he flicked cards against the fence), and his fingertips (stars that burned out long before she paused to look up).
It was never about the all of him or the way he tried too hard to be someone other than himself. In the end, he was just another lie that became the truth. The only thing she kept was his coat sleeve—the cuff shaped like disappointment.
This is the way ghosts teach us, she says. Above the distant rumble of jackhammers and thunder, the sky crests like a wave as she pulls it in behind her.
Adele Kenny is the author of twenty-five books and chapbooks (poetry and nonfiction). Among other awards, she has received a 1st place Allen Ginsberg Poetry Award, poetry fellowships from the NJ State Arts Council, a Merton Poetry of the Sacred Award, and Kean University’s Distinguished Alumni Award. One of her books was a Paterson Poetry Prize Finalist. Founding director of the Carriage House Poetry Series and poetry editor of Tiferet, she has twice been a Geraldine R. Dodge Festival poet.