Adam Fieled (Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania, USA): "To Abby Heller-Burnham"
I.
What solidity the years deliver— against
the grain of ephemeral travesties forced
into our inner lives, behind our eyes— I
think of you on those West Philadelphia
nights we all got a blessed buzz going, in
green coloration, so that space/time grew
fluid, and compositions preciously coalesced.
There, splayed out on the wooden floor of Mary’s
room, without our own consummation
having happened yet, or needed to happen,
the composition of my thoughts returns, remains
fluid. The goddess-head in your brain remains
what it was, circles under/over circles, I
perceive light, shade, depth, earth-tones, bird-eyes.
II.
As to why the world had to let you
starve at the end (as I myself teetered
towards possible starvation), machine
mechanisms against those such as us
always remain in motion— fanged, foraging.
Everything heaven-hinged here is blood-
spattered; the last time I saw you alive,
headed towards Center City, over the Walnut
Street Bridge, deep dark rings around your
eyes spelled out a narrative of decay, death,
deadened innocence. I knew your temper then, left
you alone. That’s when the Liberty Place Towers
began to frighten me— what was high was cold.
The warmth which gradually returned can never leave.
© Adam Fieled 2017-2025
Both parts of To Abby Heller-Burnham, I and II, appeared in Otoliths 44 in 2017.
What solidity the years deliver— against
the grain of ephemeral travesties forced
into our inner lives, behind our eyes— I
think of you on those West Philadelphia
nights we all got a blessed buzz going, in
green coloration, so that space/time grew
fluid, and compositions preciously coalesced.
There, splayed out on the wooden floor of Mary’s
room, without our own consummation
having happened yet, or needed to happen,
the composition of my thoughts returns, remains
fluid. The goddess-head in your brain remains
what it was, circles under/over circles, I
perceive light, shade, depth, earth-tones, bird-eyes.
II.
As to why the world had to let you
starve at the end (as I myself teetered
towards possible starvation), machine
mechanisms against those such as us
always remain in motion— fanged, foraging.
Everything heaven-hinged here is blood-
spattered; the last time I saw you alive,
headed towards Center City, over the Walnut
Street Bridge, deep dark rings around your
eyes spelled out a narrative of decay, death,
deadened innocence. I knew your temper then, left
you alone. That’s when the Liberty Place Towers
began to frighten me— what was high was cold.
The warmth which gradually returned can never leave.
© Adam Fieled 2017-2025
Both parts of To Abby Heller-Burnham, I and II, appeared in Otoliths 44 in 2017.
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