The Bottom Shelf Review

Winner of the William and Ivy Saylor Prize 2015

Having ridden this black traffic wave

of ethanol and fumes,

this bad habit, following me,

of never being in the moment,

I still don’t understand why some of the prettiest towns

have some of the ugliest names.

Or why we don’t find shapes in the trees,

like we do for the clouds.

Or why the night just feels so much better than the day

when you’re walking,

but when we’re driving with the windows down and

the warm wind blowing against our arms,

things just seem so true.

I can’t say why I’m a thinker like,

living for a thought is what I’m best at.

I can’t say why a candle’s orange and blue flickering flame

melts away my resilience and hesitation for love.

Or why the moonlight veils the worst part of my existence.

Or why the swirling, slow burning smoke of a cigarette

awakens the deepest, most hidden parts of me.

Or why, at times, when you feel cornered and pinned down,

surrounded with no chance,

you still feel like everything in this world is beautiful

and you’re right where you’re supposed to be.