[09/30/2026]

[POETRY]

The whole time Under Our feet

Two Poems by Theodore Heil

Staying with her

My friend died again
the day the
storm ran out,

the shock of her mouth
white like the flash
photos our high school friends

took at the backyard reunion.
She was there, the whole time
under our feet, while we

tossed bottles into the aisles
of the yard, watching slugs
shrink back with shallow breath

staring through the clouds
which began to split
into sunshine.

We were
an Avenue
rich in memories,

fingers heavy
with the weight
of each other’s sadness.

blue morning

I’m on Third Avenue walking to the pharmacy
trying to find work on my way out of nowhere.
Life is treating me the way I treat the morning
coffee mugs with all the handles broke off.
I’m on Third Avenue crawling on my belly
on a trip downtown in knots over the news
encroaching from every window
announcing some new personal tragedy.

I’m on Third Avenue and my mother might be
be dying. I have a feeling. Like when the family
next door became an empty lot. I’m rounding a corner
on a baffling year where every inkling is like this.

Sun rise, sun set, four sides
all in me, changing relentless.

THEODORE HEIL is the author of Movements (Bottlecap Press 2026). He lives in New York.