We miss our limbs, the splay
of arms, the limbo legs, the
intimate positioning of apertures
for sex; all must touch
to satisfaction, even toes.
We miss the inflections from
our tongues and vocal chords,
and where we can now convey
our words much more succinctly,
there is no way to cluck
or kiss a minor statement
for a proper irony; we miss
the sibilance that comes from
talking faster than one's own thoughts . . .
for out here we never run faster
than the speed of thought, it's physically
impossible, you know, yet we would
hiss and hiss, as gulls might whisper . . .
but most of what we miss is you,
for none of us would trade places,
and this, just this, is a fine thing
for you to know . . .
our waiting for your death.
Copyright © 2000 by Ward Kelley
Ward Kelley has seen more than 700 of his poems appear in journals world wide since he began publishing in 1996. A Pushcart Prize nominee, Kelley's publication credits include such journals as: ACM Another Chicago Magazine, Rattle, Sunstone, Spillway, Porcupine Literary Magazine, Pif, 2River View, Oblique, Offcourse, Potpourri and Skylark. He has been honored as featured poet for Seeker Magazine, Physik Garden, Poetry Life & Times, and Pyrowords.