A Little Stay Poem by Tara Schley

It's 25

our hearts beating,

old gravestones
standing, sunken and
tilted on their side,

a charred sapling
photosynthesizing
sunlight streaming
through
a blackened
forest,

old buildings
that creak in the wind,

declaring,

we are still here.

24, I was in the
psych ward.
You talked to me
on the phone.
You walked an hour
to see me

and I am still here.

Somewhere it is 3am,
it's always 3am somewhere.

I hope they have a you,
and they are still here too.


Tara Schley.