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Elly McCarthy

theorizing without a sense of the ground

​I have a theory that thirty-degree wind tastes different in March
Like having forgotten yourself, before the frigid wall of used-to-be winter
Has you heaving until you remember
 
I have a theory that every time my dad woke into a bruised dawn
And drove four hours north he forgot me because he had to
 
I have a theory that the more we intellectualize our happiness
The horizon grows sharper with untouched feelings and it becomes
Harder to familiarize ourselves with another day
 
I have a theory that whittles away at the vacant caverns of my fleshy heart:
That everyone is fifteen, everyone is so fifteen that the road no longer feels like gravel
 
I have a theory that I was the translucent wine and the plastic cup too
The oven left hot and my brother’s icy rage
Even though I was actually it’s going to be alright
 
I have a theory that guilt is never an act of love
Despite its softness, lies sticky as it awaits a balm of forgiveness
 
I have a theory that it doesn’t get better until it does— and then it doesn’t
All of this avalanching in slow motion like waves, like the slow winding hand
Spinning cotton candy around a paper cone

Biography

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Elly McCarthy grew up in New Jersey and currently lives in Chicago, where she spends as much time near the lake as possible. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Hooligan Magazine, Moist Poetry Journal, and Raven’s Perch, among others. You can find her on Twitter at @naturallog_ 
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ISSN 2639-426X
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  • Home
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    • Issue 35
    • Issue 34
    • Issue 33
    • Issue 32
    • Issue 31
    • Issue 30
    • Issue 29
    • Issue 28
    • Issue 27
    • Issue 26
    • Issue 25
    • Issue 24
    • Issue 23
    • Issue 22
    • Issue 21
    • Issue 20
    • Issue 19
    • Issue 18
    • Serenity
    • Issue 17
    • The Audio Room
    • Issue 16
    • Issue 15
    • Issue 14
    • Play It Again
    • Issue 13
    • Issue 12
    • Issue 11
    • Issue 10
    • Issue 9
    • Issue 8
    • Issue 7
    • Issue 6
    • Hand to Mouth
    • Issue 5
    • Issue 4
    • Issue 3
    • Issue 2
    • Issue 1
  • Submissions