Green by Timothy Tarkelly


The kind of green that hurts my eyes:

pale and useless against the dark.

The seats were slick with summer’s graces.


and jumping –

we couldn’t help but jump –

we traded breath for music.


soprano cast in green.

I’ll hold the wheel and wait,

lending pause to thought

and thought to hurricane,

while hoping that the interlude allows

for a fly-by.

An unconfirmed sighting:

a sweet, if not imagined

brush of fingers, dumb in the dark

and a strand of hair (also lost to the music)

that looked absolutely perfect in green.

I got the whole thing on tape.



Timothy Tarkelly is a student in National University’s MFA program. He has published stories (Wild Rose Press, Cover of Darkness) and poems (Lycan Valley Press, Fourth & Sycamore. Two of his short films became official selections at independent film festivals, with one winning “Outstanding Low Budget” at ZedFest 2013.