I cannot give you everything,
adoration beyond this moment
a dwelling and a new name,

open my door when I know this is
not where you belong, your collar
bright despite your wanderings.

I’m ashamed to say I hardly have
any food on hand that isn’t chocolate,
ultra-processed, flavor-blasted,

but I can hold out my hand with my palm
turned skyward, set the metal bowl
of sweet cold water under your tongue,

walk behind you wordlessly in the dark
toward the black road, this silence
my promise: I will not forget.

I trail your safe passage across the street
as you traipse toward home again,
as the night’s first stars begin to shine.

---

Kelli Weldon was born and raised in Louisiana and now resides in Texas. Find her poetry in publications including Black Moon Magazine, Boats Against The Current, Duck Duck Mongoose Magazine, Frost Meadow Review, In Parentheses, Remington Review and Rewrite The Stars Review.