Tiia Kelly
Ant Farm
outside the theatre, you say:
let’s discuss the movie in the car
pointing your keys into the distance, angling
at metal
your way of saying:
i want to know if this is something we can share
eyes like giant projections,
rectangles of light exploding
against the windshield. it is:
let us have been changed in the same way, re-acquainted
by shared conclusion
i keep wanting to love things in silence & have that
be enough. thinking talking
about the thing means there’s less of it. want
ant farm passages curving & convening in
sealed glass like stoic structures of warmth
i keep rejecting language & then asking for it
realising myself in places you’ve spoken
dismembered reconstituted
saying:
i’d like to sit with it for a while, if that’s okay. the problem is
i don’t know if i’ll ever stop announcing myself
to you. peering around doorframes &
shaping to the wood. always asking
at which point in the sentence we’ve arrived
to think of a word (only half of the world
it seeks out) & me (still shattering
the ant-farm to greet you). my fist perpetually
pummelling sand to recount you
my whole silence taken up
to keep seeing movies & sitting
in your car. clumsy in the idea I might be
earnest. asking how on earth to be clarified
premising:
i can’t love things within a description of their worth
always meaning:
there is no language for this
let’s discuss the movie in the car
pointing your keys into the distance, angling
at metal
your way of saying:
i want to know if this is something we can share
eyes like giant projections,
rectangles of light exploding
against the windshield. it is:
let us have been changed in the same way, re-acquainted
by shared conclusion
i keep wanting to love things in silence & have that
be enough. thinking talking
about the thing means there’s less of it. want
ant farm passages curving & convening in
sealed glass like stoic structures of warmth
i keep rejecting language & then asking for it
realising myself in places you’ve spoken
dismembered reconstituted
saying:
i’d like to sit with it for a while, if that’s okay. the problem is
i don’t know if i’ll ever stop announcing myself
to you. peering around doorframes &
shaping to the wood. always asking
at which point in the sentence we’ve arrived
to think of a word (only half of the world
it seeks out) & me (still shattering
the ant-farm to greet you). my fist perpetually
pummelling sand to recount you
my whole silence taken up
to keep seeing movies & sitting
in your car. clumsy in the idea I might be
earnest. asking how on earth to be clarified
premising:
i can’t love things within a description of their worth
always meaning:
there is no language for this
Biography
Tiia Kelly (she/her) is an emerging writer and editor from Melbourne. She is currently completing her BA in Creative Writing and Screen & Cultural Studies at The University of Melbourne, where she volunteers as a Creative Subeditor for Farrago. Her work can additionally be found in Guided Mag and Farrago. She enjoys tabbouleh and dancing in people’s kitchens, and thinks a lot about how identity is negotiated through cultural consumption. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram @tiiakel.
