"Time" by Julia Forrest
Psychopharmacology: Levels by Jill Mceldowney
“Tell me what you remember.”
In the beginning,
there was sound--
“Are you talking about music?”
No.
A voice.
A voice
from that child’s story said
“Who is that trip-trapping on my bridge?”
He and I—we were sitting next to the swimming pool
and all I could think was I am so happy. I am so happy.
I am going to have to pay for this happiness.
How am I going to pay?
Maybe that’s when I knew
something human to the bone--
not the bone but the bone twisted beyond
being twisted back.
I don’t know the way back
to my body before this body
before my body was changed
by antidepressants but if there is a way--
do I really want to find it?
There are levels
to grief and happiness is one of them.
“Is it possible then that you are afraid to be happy?”
From here I can pretend
that things last, that our lives will last
as long as mountains.
Childhood makes us so good at pretending I almost believe
that the dead might come walking back,
might draw us a map to the place where their pulses went.
Worlds don’t last--
they lead us deeper with the belief
that this road, this bridge, this ladder, air, epoch
will lead us safer.
I can pretend to believe or I can tell you the truth--
“And what is the truth?”
How else would death call me?
“Is that the question you are most afraid to be asked?”
Ask me if I miss him.
“Do you miss him?”
Healing means forgetting, means
what happened never happened.
Do I want that? No--do I really want that?
Water and time never belonged to me.
I hear myself
tell him my name.
When you fall in love with someone,
you start speaking
the way they speak. I hear myself
saying: love means I can’t stay here.
I’ve been told that when you fall
in love it feels like flight--
as if love lasts long enough to grow wings--
more often than not,
that fall kills you.
“When did you first come to this way of thinking?”
August— when what’s left of sound
teases the graveyard. The worst part of loss is that you live
after it and my life
has been annihilated by this loss.
I miss him and I have been
missing him and
I am allowed to be afraid that I will never be the same.
What I need is a promise--
“What do you mean by promise?”
I want one less worry, I want someone to tell me
it will be okay, that there is a life after this one
and that he will find it
even if he doesn’t deserve it.
Is it so wrong
to want to be haunted?
“Pretend he is here, in this room right now. What would you say to him?”
I would say--
In the beginning,
there was sound--
“Are you talking about music?”
No.
A voice.
A voice
from that child’s story said
“Who is that trip-trapping on my bridge?”
He and I—we were sitting next to the swimming pool
and all I could think was I am so happy. I am so happy.
I am going to have to pay for this happiness.
How am I going to pay?
Maybe that’s when I knew
something human to the bone--
not the bone but the bone twisted beyond
being twisted back.
I don’t know the way back
to my body before this body
before my body was changed
by antidepressants but if there is a way--
do I really want to find it?
There are levels
to grief and happiness is one of them.
“Is it possible then that you are afraid to be happy?”
From here I can pretend
that things last, that our lives will last
as long as mountains.
Childhood makes us so good at pretending I almost believe
that the dead might come walking back,
might draw us a map to the place where their pulses went.
Worlds don’t last--
they lead us deeper with the belief
that this road, this bridge, this ladder, air, epoch
will lead us safer.
I can pretend to believe or I can tell you the truth--
“And what is the truth?”
How else would death call me?
“Is that the question you are most afraid to be asked?”
Ask me if I miss him.
“Do you miss him?”
Healing means forgetting, means
what happened never happened.
Do I want that? No--do I really want that?
Water and time never belonged to me.
I hear myself
tell him my name.
When you fall in love with someone,
you start speaking
the way they speak. I hear myself
saying: love means I can’t stay here.
I’ve been told that when you fall
in love it feels like flight--
as if love lasts long enough to grow wings--
more often than not,
that fall kills you.
“When did you first come to this way of thinking?”
August— when what’s left of sound
teases the graveyard. The worst part of loss is that you live
after it and my life
has been annihilated by this loss.
I miss him and I have been
missing him and
I am allowed to be afraid that I will never be the same.
What I need is a promise--
“What do you mean by promise?”
I want one less worry, I want someone to tell me
it will be okay, that there is a life after this one
and that he will find it
even if he doesn’t deserve it.
Is it so wrong
to want to be haunted?
“Pretend he is here, in this room right now. What would you say to him?”
I would say--
Jill Mceldowney is the author of the chapbook Airs Above Ground (Finishing Line Press) as well as Kisses Over Babylon (dancing girl press). She is an editor and cofounder of Madhouse Press. She is also a National Poetry Series Finalist. Her previously published work can be found in journals such as Prairie Schooner, Muzzle, Fugue, Vinyl, the Sonora Review and other notable publications.
Julia Forrest is a Brooklyn based artist. She works strictly in film and prints in a darkroom she built within her apartment. Her own art has always been her top priority in life and in this digital world, she will continue to work with old processing. Anything can simply be done in photoshop, she prefers to take the camera, a tool of showing reality, and experiment with what she can do in front of the lens. Julia is currently working as a teaching artist at the Brooklyn Museum, Medgar Evers College, USDAN Art Center and Lehigh University. As an instructor, she thinks it is important to understand that a person can constantly stretch and push the boundaries of their ideas with whatever medium of art they choose. Her goal is for her audience to not only enjoy learning about photography, but to see the world in an entirely new way and continue to develop a future interest in the arts. You can find her at her WEBSITE and on instagram: @Juliajuliaajuliaa
