for what lies on the other side.
Space between is crisp and electrified
with tension. You only want what you want
when you can’t have it. Bear witness
at the precipice, trace your finger across
the texture and grain of the wood–
sturdy, solid, something made with purpose.
You memorize every inch with your eyes.
Weary, you wear down the edges
of the doorframe with your song.
What color is the lock? What shape
does it take when you cup it in your palm?
When you knock, what do you hear?
Back pressed against the stiffness
of resolve, lament the loss of all sense,
drop to your knees, and beg. Then stop.
What answer is found in the silence?
The ellipsis suspended, the liminal space
of waiting, excruciating. Threshold forbidden,
foreboding, body unsated, mind masticated.
The situation surrounding the sound
of what is closed. Clawing, craving–
braving the cold stare of silence for one taste
of what’s been denied. You wait.
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Shyla Ann Shehan is an analytical Virgo from the Midwest. She holds an MFA from the University of Nebraska, where she was awarded an Academy of American Poets Prize. Her writing has appeared in The Pinch, Moon City Review, Summerset Review, Puerto del Sol, and New York Quarterly, and is forthcoming in Citron Review and I-70 Review. Her poetry collection, Mining the Gap, was published by WSC Press in 2025, and her chapbook, Unsuspecting Cinderella, by Finishing Line Press in 2022. She’s the lead editor and curator of The Good Life Review and lives in Omaha with her husband, children, and three cats.
