Floating

i feel
the ground beneath me
transitioning
tectonic plates shifting
mountains rising
glaciers melting
oceans rushing in with the tide, outlining my feet
it is
soft grass
warm concrete
grapes ready for stomping
and the fluffy carpet i dance upon—
sometimes even take flight on—

this moment is everything
i am landing
i am standing
i am weeping
barely breathing


i am floating

POEMSHaley Sheffield
Maggie

Let that light catch your eye

Let that snare catch your hip

Let that song catch your soul

Let it move you like this

morning’s sunrise moved the night out’ the sky

Let it move you like the tide

moved the sand to the side

Let it move you like his hand

moved that chill down your spine

Let that light catch your eye

Let that snare catch your hip

Let that song catch your soul

Let it move you like this

POEMSHaley Sheffield
a gratitude:
  • for my able mind

  • for my body and its kindness towards me

  • for the people i’ve loved

  • for the people who’ve loved me

  • for my father and his selflessness

  • for my mother and her strength

  • for my siblings and the unique bond we share

  • for the sun being out this morning

  • for cappuccinos and this magical place

  • for books, for words, for language, for experience

  • for the mess and all it taught me

  • for music and the way it allows me to express myself

  • for music and the way it connects us

  • for music with no qualifiers

  • for cars and the open road

  • for mountain-driving and driving into my hometown

  • for children and all they teach us to forget

  • for the elderly and all they teach us to remember

  • wrinkled hands and smile lines

  • for laughter you can’t hold back

  • for tears you can’t hold back

  • for every moment that led to this moment

  • for inhale

  • for exhale

  • for room to breathe

What does the silence say?

What does the silence say? Is the whole story the compilation of things we allow to come off our lips and the things we don’t? We’ll never know them—never know the details left missing and why. What are the options not chosen and why were they not taken? I know my own silences with intimacy and still don’t often know their origins. Are the thoughts left out moving around at a lower volume? Did I turn them down or did they enter my head that way—softly?

big. wild. hope.

inescapable and innocent and blind

and maybe ignorant

and maybe delusional  

and maybe childish,

unrealistic

 

but i cannot not. 

dreaming, reaching  

with my mind and heart— 

who do not ask my permission to

go there 

who do not calculate the odds  

who do not assess the risks involved

 

magic keeps moving out of my fingertips

light beams linger beneath my eyelids

and the most vulnerable of wishes finds its way onto the sound waves wriggling themselves free from my throat

 

can you hear it 

are you listening

do you feel it too? 

a meditation

the wishes we make

in the form of

the winds we blow on

our birthday cakes

the tears that fall on 

our pillow case

the ink we unload on 

our diaries

i stored them all 

in the tiny wrinkles on the backs

of my hands and

after a few years without sight of the promise land

they learned to dance in the curtains

call shots from the sidelines

make music in the margins

no need to exhaust with thoughts of 

what i could have been by now

or where i could have been by now

all i have is now

all i have is now

i repeat it like a wish that

comes true as it leaves my lips

needs no pension

needs no advance

needs no mention of future plans

all i have is now

and to be here, now, is

after all,

all i want.

hearth

that first hush of cool air falls over my skin

and i’m falling again


if nostalgia were a tree—

this one is red and green and bare in places

where the leaves have no desire to cling anymore


(i don’t miss you like i did before)


and all of it comes in slow

i hardly noticed the temperature lower itself

ten degrees last night while i was sleeping

and there it is, again, in my memory

rotating with the seasons

and for all that the sun melted away,

this is still frozen here


and i remember:

making three miles out of three blocks,

colors vibrating around us—

branches caught fire as we watched

the beginning of their dying


one of my favorite things about fall is when it gets so cold that the warmth of the hearth is almost impossible to walk away from.

you

and you:

you wipe the slate clean

you’re not afraid to say things

that scare the hell out of the self-righteous

you right my wrongs and all the other ones

that people like use as weapons

you shake the defenses


i love the way you

look me in the eye,

reassure me i don’t have to hide myself

around you or anyone else

by the way you most certainly don’t hide yourself


i think we’ve found a balance

i think we’ve managed

to love our in-betweens

you’re the island i need in a sea of emotions

(i know good-and-well you like walking by the shore,

but i promise not to tell your friends)


and i:

i’ve never been more sure—

looking back or looking forward—

that the person that i was before

and the person that you’re holding

is lucky to be yours

 

i’m lucky to be yours

kaleidoscope

and i don’t want to tell you

how now i relate to the restless

the reckless

the back-row sitters

the marriage-quitters

those bankrupt on friendship

with blood on their hands 

and knives in their backs 

Is this what growing up is?

place an ad for my innocence

lost

missing

last seen on

what i’ll tell you is

the way that it 

looks from where I’m standing kneeling—

through a hundred, a thousand more eyes—

feels a little more like

a kaleidoscope 

and for all the deferred hope

i wouldn’t change this view for the world 

so help me space God

i’m a sleepy baby

wearing crooked shirts

and my hair looked

okay in the front

but apparently could house some

rats in the back

and why do they call it a “rats nest”

i wore lipstick 'cause it’s monday

and i’m conflicted about recovering

from the weekend or diving into work

half-assed, full moons 

have their way with me

it’s not like my body’s a match for the mass

or the speed with which the spinning globe i’m standing on

and the night light circling it

waltz around each other

so i’m caught up in this space-dance

my cadence a little frantic

my mind a little lethargic

my body a little like a puddle, but with blue jeans on

so help me space God

cozy

i want air that’s hardly cold

blowing on my face

the kind of cold that feels warm every few seconds

i want to roll the windows down while it’s raining

let tiny goosebumps dance with droplets on my skin

i want the green on the trees to look blue

and for everything else to look grey

i want to play music that sounds like they’ve felt their heart break

and snuggle up under a light, soft blanket of sad

on a perfectly happy day

take-off from tokyo

ascending

listening to frank sing

white ferrari

drinking jasmine tea,

watching


the ocean expands beneath me—

more blue than i’ve ever seen—

catches the light in my eyes,

turns them to soul-deep wellsprings

and my eyes—glistening—

surprise-blink feelings out of them,

streaming liquid gratitude


a tear

for existence


a tear

for the mystery of it


a tear

for the way i lack importance—

a weight lifted, perspective given

a “stick your head-in-the-clouds” prescription

we. are. so. insignificant. from up here


a tear

a truth:

i matter so much to a few of

those tiny specks on the ground

who likely aren’t thinking of me at this 4am hour

(but maybe dreaming)

30,000 feet below

where one touch of the hand is enough

to make your world explode

back into the stardust we’re made of


and so it’s here—

forehead smushed against the window of seat J, aisle 54—

that i think-whisper a new promise to myself:


carry your life with a lightness,

but give it permission


to fly

IMG_1057.JPG
elasticity

elasticity isn't a thing

i paid attention to when i was four

maybe in Play-Doh

but in my face? who wants a stretchy face?

my wounds don't heal as quickly as they used to

and i have a nervous habit of picking

that i think i'm going to have to quit

because concealer isn't cutting it

and bleeding in public is far less acceptible

when you're almost thirty

i think i'll try to moisturize

some buoyancy back into my brow--

mom always said that was important

that i'd "understand one day"--

what i understand at this point is that

in the battle between sky and land,

the ground surely has the upper hand

and is all this lotion really a match for gravity?

no degree of hyaluronic acid is going to change the fact that

i am a person stuck inside of a skin

dependent on this body to draw a picture of who i am

each decade spent circling the sun

will likely pencil a few lines across

this degenerating canvas

this morning in st. augustine

 

the cicadas orchestrate

a song buried in my throat

vibrates in my chest

my brow sweats

my hands

my thighs

and i

inhale as their violins swell

exhale as they come to a whisper

you belong here 

the earth, heaving

flowing

spinning

the sky’s never light, you know

it’s just the sun hitting it

we’re sitting by the ocean

embraced by the morning

the air sticking to our skin

salt and dew

i watch the tide step away from us— 

moonwalk—

get lost in thought wondering

how my body of water— 

70% they say— 

might be ebbing and flowing on the inside too

and everything is alive 

crepe myrtle
haleysheffield.com

i love the way the crepe myrtles

confetti our cars

our trashcans

the part of the sidewalk i've never paid much attention to

i could sit in the rain for hours

i love when you've been sweating all day and it's evening in early august and you're walking to nowhere and it starts sprinkling out of nowhere and you feel this sensation that truly can't be compared to anything else but i wrote "like" a few times to give it a try

i love when you make me laugh

i love when the chiropractor tells me i'll need to sit up so she can crack my neck back into shape

she said sometimes it makes you feel high and it totally did

isn't life full of the beautiful, the unexpected?

4-7-8

today i feel big

or like there’s something big inside me

expansive—

reverse gravity is what Neil deGrasse

Tyson called it— 

but somehow I’m still

held together by

the regular kind—

curves formed by distance to the moon

or something like that

i must have tossed around just right in that ocean

before i arrived

rubbed smooth like pebbles

gathered parts like coral

the plot thickens

the tide taught me it’s rhythm

pace yourself

the air in my lungs finds a way out

exhale, "whooshing sound"

inhale quietly through the nose

count to four

hold for seven

let it go for eight

 

this is one breath.

 

lime green angels

i drove past

three angels sporting

lime green t-shirts

floating down the sidewalk 

in my peripheral

back-to-back against  

a grey, almost-rain-sky, so i

couldn't help but notice the

sweet (or i assumed) old lady with

a fanny pack and glasses

the second one I don't remember

just a flash of green

and the third--because how in the world were there three?--

a tall slender man

with shoulders slouched

and little to no facial expression at all

and i think of

Frank Ocean's Blonde album

and the potential martians I read about in the New York Time's app this morning

and melons

I think of Iris Apfel and imagine a festival

like Bonaroo but with elderly people

absolutely raging

meanwhile, a song is playing

the speakers in my car sing it and it spills out of my windows

"my mind's a ship that's going down"

and I wonder, in that moment, if we all relate

the lime green angels floating on the sidewalk

and me in a grey shirt

i never wear