top of page

There Will Be Time - Layla Lenhardt

You adopt my mess like it is your own

veiled child. And at Yule, I’ll throw

your name into the fire. The crackle

of the flames rhapsodizes the time

I was in your driveway in September,

lemons and limes weighing down

my pockets, when the guilt tore me

to ribbons on your twin size bed. I mistook

the clouds outside your window for mountains

on the horizon. It’s a slow parade

of memories. There was that song in the background.

I needed to know it. It was beautiful,

but I couldn’t catch the lyrics. I didn’t know how

I’d ever find it again, find you again, but I really

hoped I would. And as I enjoyed the last seconds,

looking at you was bittersweet. I didn’t

know what I needed until I heard it. And then

it was gone. And I just have to be happy

that I got to hear it in the first place, even

if I never get to hear it again.

I stayed up late watching the steam dance

off of your cup, you were stirring me into your tea.

Our words made a spiderweb of delicate lace.

And when the fire extinguishes itself,

profound silence, a cherished haunt.

I spent half my life not knowing

who you were. And the other half

trying to live without you.


Layla Lenhardt is Editor in Chief of 1932 Quarterly. She has been most recently published in Rust + Moth, Glass Mountain, Poetry Quarterly, and Pennsylvania Literary Journal. She is a 4th place finalist in Poetry Super Highway’s 2019 Poetry Contest.


Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page