by Jess Whetsel

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There is a room in my heart
that only you can enter. You forged
a key from curiosity and devotion, tied it
‘round your neck with fishing line, but still
you knock first, let me open the door. 
I welcome you in with a checkerboard grin.

Once inside, time rewinds, 
smooths the lines on your face. 
Adulthood is a heavy wool coat 
you leave crumpled on the floor. 
You take my tiny hand in yours 
and it feels like watching a rainstorm 
from a covered porch, like the 
soft pink belly of an animal.

How tender this love, 
unlike any other. 
How limited our lexicon 
for the spectrum of intimacy. 
How beautiful the truth
that is never too late –
that play is your birthright,
that it longs for a mate.

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[The poem is from the author’s debut poetry collection, A Softer Kind of Audacity, published in November 2023.]

© Jess Whetsel

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Jess Whetsel (she/her) is a poet, writer, editor, and public speaker based in Toledo, Ohio on Erie, Kickapoo, Seneca, and Odawa land. Her poetry has appeared in the literary journals Tulip Tree Review and Discretionary Love. 

You can learn more about Whetsel and her work on her website, www.jesswhetsel.com, or by following her Instagram, @jesswhetselwrites.

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