Addicted to a sense of urgency

He said

He hurried to see her, but when he arrived it was six months too early.

He stood under her window, but she refused to open it.

He thought he would try again when he was richer.

He thought he would try again tomorrow, but this time bring an umbrella.

He hurried to see her, but so did everyone.

He hurried like it was his own idea, when the line was already two blocks long.

He hurried because he loved the feeling of hurrying.

He walked around the block 10 times, but the clock only turned 10 minutes.

How to keep up a lover’s pace?  

Run backwards?  

Refuse to rise from the pavement?

Nail himself down?

She said

It takes at least six months for them to lose their insincerity.  

How long will it take for me to lose my sincerity?  

Maybe I already have, I just sound like I haven’t.

When I’m angry, the truth just seeps out.

Repression is bad for the digestion, I often shout.

My heart races every afternoon as if I’d heard

a gunshot on my street, but what there is

is just dissonance, cacophony, a jar full of marbles

with nothing to hold them.  My executive mind

has already stored each task: by category, by space, by time

then left at her desk. Empty portraits run this show,

mine among them.  

Heather Nelson has been a student of poetry since college, where she developed her thesis project under the guidance of CD Wright and Peter Gizzi at Brown University in 1991. She has been published in Ekphrastic Review, Lily Poetry Review, Spoon River Review and others. She currently leads a local free-write, runs writing workshops for high school students and hosts a book group in Cambridge, Mass. She has been active in the Boston area literary scene since she began writing, and has taught classes at Grub Street, planned events for Litcrawl, organized author talks and other activities.