in a moment

She lives in gazes caught across a room,
Held fast amidst the swirling, dappled thrall
She wishes you would not so fast assume
That she withers, gasps, outside cathedral walls
She makes her bed the place where fingers meet,
Their pads as soft as petals new in spring
And nestles in the hearts that speed their beat
Once a kindred spirit gently sings
But she is not a chooser or a saint--
Her meddling can lead to wretched ends
She oft grows fickle, connection but a feint:
Just two hands left, what grew between them dead
And yet for her in search we never cease
For, oh, her very presence brings such peace!

Marissa Pecorelli (she/her) is a sophomore film major at Fordham University Lincoln Center. She enjoys creating in any and every capacity, with a soft spot for funny and “stupid” pieces. When she isn’t backtracking because she forgot her keys, she can be found writing poetry, drawing, and attempting to play the guitar. She hopes her piece inspires you to come up with your own story of what happened.

Lilliana Resnik (she/her) is a writer and a Fordham LC freshman majoring in Communication & Culture. Her work has been published in Teen Ink and Polyphony Lit, and she works as a staff writer at Painted Faces magazine covering issues of identity and media. When not writing she is probably making tea, wandering around Manhattan, or daydreaming about going to book festivals in person again.