J-T Kelly

I Hate You With My Whole Heart

You come disguised to see me as I am:
dying. You come as someone who is not
dying. My friend, you are deceiving yourself.
The tide recedes inevitably. The waves,
advancing, provide cover for the retreat.


The pier, the corrugated baffle, the rocks
preserve the record of past accomplishment
in stain and corrosion. But at the edge, in divots
and scum, are colorful eruptions of hunger
and life. I walk the evening shoreline in awe.


I used to read immense immodest books —
the kind that make the most sweeping pronouncements 
of how things are, of how things seem, of how
things work and fit, their value and what they mean.
And now? I walk the evening shoreline in awe.


You're here to put your voice back in my ears,
but I can't hear you at the ocean's edge,
in wind like this, from far away, unceasing.
I should have killed you while I had the chance,
but we can walk the shoreline together
                                       for now.

J-T Kelly is an innkeeper in Indianapolis, Indiana. He lives in a brick house with his wife and six children, his two parents, and a dog.