Jelly and Ice Cream
In the next room another party ravages on.
Speakers huffing out 70s disco, feet rearranging
themselves across the canyons of shaggy carpet.
Above the shrills I can barely hear myself think
yet the weight of your silence pulls me taut
the way the skin of a plastic bag stretches
around its contents. Why haven’t you written?
It molests me, this stillness, and I cannot
bare to swallow the tongue whole, or seize
back the notebook ensnared in the drawer.
Have we, this whole time, been stubborn
fettered fools? I remember when we laughed
through party-piles of jelly and ice cream, hurled
water balloons at each other. As sheets sliding
from a glacier, we tried to cast off the displaced
ice from our hearts with playful distractions,
because it would have to end in an airport.
Like an wordless stranger’s smile, on the desk sits
a restless, unsealed envelope. A swollen pen.
An ugly stamp unlicked.
Copyright © Sam Kolinski 2014
Sam Kolinski is a 25 year-old Glasgow-based writer quietly working his way towards his first chapbook. He loves polysemy and is wholly indebted to Sam Willetts’ 2010 debut ‘New Light for the Old Dark’ and the letter D.