don’t break your own heart in

the digital age, a cry to the

vapor trails overhead left

in the wake of our own


if I stop looking in crowds

I won’t find the click of your

shutter. i haven’t been trailing

behind. I have been keeping

pace. the one thing about time

is how it passes, softly dying in our

fingertips. go ahead and reach.


there’s nothing confusing about your

name on my tongue. it doesn’t twist like

it used to. ankle marks and shoulder

scratches. lift your arm one more to

meet mine.


give it space, let it grow.

if there’s anything to learn from the moon,

you’ll know, feet pressed to the ground

once again



to start with the bitter frozen dichotomy, the belief in the

growth anew, the barren tree branches splitting and making way

for the new buds pointed skywards, placed at the roots.

to become more than the wind touching the wave, one

body, one body, to become the leaf that sweeps

to the bottom, brushed underneath

which then becomes the soil to grow again.

to walk with spring is

to listen to the birds for the first time, aware of their call

and response marks a new beginning,

a bloom of dandelions can

look like flowers to those close to the ground.

begin life anew, it is the one calling out to you.

in spring, you’ll be

different, feel the breeze tapping at your window, inviting you outside

the sun shines on your face and the buds grow, marking

one more turn of the cycle



one day I’ll disappear, and I believe it too,

to sleep under the cool curtain of indifference

only the lark will take notice

in my absences

the flowers can grow anew, only marked by the person they can’t talk to

there’s a vulnerability I

can’t afford

the one that’s raw in the darkness, healed in the light

one day I’ll get there when my heels stop

pressing pavement in search of a trail

buried by time

the world is beautiful and I want to slip inside

if only I can collapse who I am

fold into pieces stuffed in pockets or forgotten on the subway tracks

and I’ll believe it too, the words that leave my lips are truth in a sense

I’ll go if you ask me

just once more, I tell myself I’ll disappear

only if you ask

will I become the wind



no hard feelings though

I can’t pretend to know what that means for I

have never known a world to include soft feelings

only the cool

slip of fingers around indifference or the

way the sun melts the snow as it drips down sidewalk drains

circling life anew. and wasn’t it Sinatra who sang

all or nothing, at all, the voice echoes, reverberating

through base-laden stereos and

scratched records. the beautiful dumb half-life, this

treacherous majestic in-between that quells and calls

but never answers to the question


do you mean



if someone took a bite out of it

the clouds muddling its usual structure

and design


how ridiculous, to think we might reach

those that linger in the distance

just so close that we can extend our lips to

and consume.



Meredith Wilshere

Meredith Wilshere


New York native with a Boston twist, I’m a recent college graduate trying to navigate through all the changes, challenges of my early to mid to late twenties.