︎︎︎ Timothy Berrigan

︎ JUNE 2, 2022

there I opened the window

and threw myself out in a certain slant of sunlight

loving it

the way a poem loves the spring

in its own words

in its own words

the rain makes a statement

I can’t think of a plant without you really

the wind is in italics when going out and looking for it

I count the days differently than you

but end up with the same number

there’s too many and not enough time and I’ve lost track anyways

it would be good to become a single sentence

a climate

an orange

some small magic wavering there glassy like gravity

tasting differently in the sunlight

charred like a million atoms

a blank melody catapulting

exhaling the molecular

and so what if my soul has no secret at all

and then there’s this feeling again

Timothy Berrigan
works as a Literacy Advisor in adult and community literacy at the Brooklyn Public Library. His work has appeared in Columbia Journal, The Perch, The Maine Review, Really System, The Scores, Gilded Dirt, SPAM Zine, and elsewhere. He lives in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.