Leslie Young - Outside

In Leslie Young’s “Outside”, the rush and chaos of the outside world is tempered by the intimacy and warmth of simple touch. This poem is a work of contrast, where there is not solace and beauty outside, but instead decay and brittle artificiality. Tranquility and peace can instead by found in the slowness and sacredness of touch and quiet connection. “Outside” is an ode to human interaction. “‘Outside’ proclaims the hope brought to bad situations by the human presence and touch,” Leslie informed The Dewdrop.

Outside

Outside the children roar-the noise of boys
Soon to be silent men
Devoid of hope or motion.
Time flies but nothing ever changes:
Ashen sky, dry grass, cement
Cracked and stained by damp leaves.
All doors here are lies,
All windows open to void
Or just more grime.
But under the shell are cracks.
Under the slick surface
And sharply defined fences, walls, dead stone,
Inside gray sky, dry grass,
My stained fingers, are eyes,
Is lichen on the rocks,
Is an open door, the touch
Of a certain mind, the impossible green
Of moist fire.

Your fingers
On my skin are holy.
They open holes in everything.