Tina Kelley

by Tina Kelley

Ima put the bitch in obituary,
have a night funeral – why
aren’t these more common?
Super sad, candles, I made
the mix tape, to play hours before
dawn, then you all watch sunrise

together, like I never did because
I hate getting up early. Fill the bird
feeders and dog’s bowl before you
come. Wouldn’t it be rich if it fell
on winter solstice, with eclipse,
darkest night in 500 years!

As you file in take a packet
of forget-me-not seeds, feel
bad if you forget to plant them.
While I’m at it, bury me how I
sleep, tummy down, cozy, or
I’ll be restless, haunt you all. No,

keep me from dark graveyards,
stone surfaces flashing, reflecting
passing headlights, alive but not.
Let me be God’s ash passenger
on the Harley roaring over the GWB,
raising my ghost arms in trust

and freedom. That windy dawn,
spread my dust and fillings all
along the span. That’s joy. Save
a quarter cup to sift over my BFF
so we can dish about who’s in hell,
save four cups for the cinder blocks

of the home my husband builds next,
as some busty widow will snatch him
fast. For my son, enough for a diamond.
Plus a bunch for my daughter’s garden,
flowers that make her home look wifely,
herbs that make her hands smell of them,

basil, lemon thyme, mint, sage, oregano,
valorous beans that grow too fast to eat,
and taste sweet like the air here after rain,
and lastly, for her raspberries that hang,
free gifts, more than hands can hold.

Tina Kelley’s fifth poetry collection, Field Guide to North American Words, is expected this fall from Jacar Press, joining Rise Wildly, Abloom & Awry, Precise, and The Gospel of Galore, winner of a Washington State Book Award. A former New York Times reporter, she is the co-author of two non-fiction books, and she and her husband have two children and live in Maplewood, NJ. She’s on Facebook, BlueSky, x.com, and Instagram. 

by Tina Kelley

May it have the smart scent
of fingersweat and typewriter.

May the song of yes
get stuck in your head
but only in a good way,

and may you hear the peace
of the beagle stopped barking,
the silence like a casserole.

Your muse will have the composure
and fertility of a well-mated queen bee.

If I told you that whales understand
baby squeals, would you believe?

Prayer has a hot and wet summer ahead,
so may your worries be as flimsy
as state park toilet paper.

May your Wednesday have all the calm hush
of this word: grazing
and this one: solace.

Did you know your soul is refilled
a quarter inch every time you hear
the shushing of a man raking leaves?

May your dog like you so much
he dislocates his tail upon waking,
and may trees be for you
very-much a cathedral.

Text yourself a heart.
See how good it feels.
Sending, getting.

May you end your night with a list
of gratitudes, may it grow. End your day
in dayenu. One item alone would’ve sufficed.

Tina Kelley’s Rise Wildly appeared in 2020 from CavanKerry Press, joining Abloom & Awry, Precise, and Washington State Book Award winner The Gospel of Galore. She’s reported for The New York Times, written two nonfiction books, and won 2023 and 2025 NJ State Council on the Arts Finalist awards. Tina can be found on X @tinakelley, Facebook: tina.kelley.writer, and on Instagram @tinakelleywriter.

by Tina Kelley

Turns out there is such thing as God’s plan,
and it involves a train so fast you can’t read
the local stops. We head straight to celebrate

the anniversary of the big bang. He’s certain
it occurred in the downs northeast of Brighton
I am skeptical, but follow paths through high

bending grass, a bridle path, a bridal path?
I confide I do not believe in a gendered god,
or a capitalized one for that matter. God says,

flirtatiously, We’ll see about that. I wonder
what Jo was thinking here, texting only,
“he’s got yr #.” If we’re the consciousness

of the universe, I say, isn’t it weird how we go
straight to blessings and praise, at least in my
tradition, rather than complaining about design flaws

like mortality, patchouli, adolescence, mosquitos?
He says praise is an instinct, highly adaptive.
But what about the Book of Common Prayer’s

predilection for self-loathing, calling ourselves
miserable sinners unworthy of thy sacrifice?
That was administrative error, dang committee,

he says. I’ll risk it — tell me a secret, I say. Dads
are wasted on the young, he says. Retirement age
is when you really need a father. How should

I spend my, I start to ask. To heck with shoulds!
he says. Don’t should on yourself, he says. I am…
but he’s not great at finishing sentences. I’m so

hungry, I say, after the silence lasts. I ponder
what God will order us if he’s trying to impress.
Oysters, sangria, mangoes, dark chocolate.

And when God gets tipsy (not to kiss and tell)
he pokes delicious fun at biblical literalists,
confides that rescue dogs are the Earth’s highest

purpose, hints that the coming fire is all our fault
so don’t come whingeing to me. You’re curious
how he came across? Clean nails, excellent

pheromones, a mix of daphne odora plus
ginger ale. And the embrace at the end, sigh!
I hope he’ll call. I want to make him laugh out loud.

Tina Kelley’s Rise Wildly appeared in 2020 from CavanKerry Press, joining Abloom & Awry, Precise, and Washington State Book Award winner The Gospel of Galore. She’s reported for The New York Times, written two nonfiction books, and won a 2023 Finalist award from the NJ State Council on the Arts.