Golden Gate Park 2024
written by: Elizabeth Palmer Kellogg
Seeing your face.
Hearing your voice.
Remembering your warm hand on my leg
your thumb stroking forth and back
across my new blue jeans
(or was it my old worn jeans?
I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.
It was only an image conjured
in my amygdala or perhaps my cerebellum
not recalling our antebellum. I don’t know.
It really doesn’t matter anymore.)
as I sat curled into you
on the weathered park bench
under the gray pine tree under the gray sky
of a drizzly San Francisco afternoon
How is it that our hearts
betrayed our minds so thoroughly?
Or maybe it never was love?
Elizabeth Palmer Kellogg writes poetry and makes quilts – piecing together words and piecing together scraps into works that are more than the sum of their parts. Her poems have been published in The Dillydoun Review, Spillwords, Red Eft Review, and One Sentence Poems. Her quilts have been displayed at the Kalamazoo Institute of Arts. She works as the assistant to the Director of Research at the W.E. Upjohn Institute for Employment Research in Kalamazoo, Michigan.
Latest posts by Elizabeth Palmer Kellogg (see all)
- Golden Gate Park 2024 - January 20, 2026
- Chasing Green Lights - September 24, 2025
- To The Other Woman - June 4, 2025
