A portfolio of poetry by Rory Finnegan
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The Bodies at Planet Fitness

1/1/2016

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Woman’s body found on eve of 42nd birthday
The toneless words of a beautiful reporter in my headphones 
and transcribed across the attached TV screen don’t surprise me 
as I go up, down, up, down in pink gym shorts.
She could have felt the same way before
the birthdays stopped;
monotonous, running but going nowhere.

Teenage boy caught in crossfire in Newark, killed
When my suffering can’t compare I increase the incline, 
seeking a reason to feel better about my privilege,
here on a purple elliptical, the slick inside
of Planet Fitness like a heaving
windowless box. “You’re burning 68 
more calories per hour!” The new deficit 
scrolls across my screen, inviting me to take
more away from my body.

The remains of three women identified after 20 years
The word ‘remains’ is a reminder that a body is not forever.
Around me, dozens of women in sync try to shrink,
limbs flailing on bulky machines,
as the families of the girls
on the TV screen have never been happier
to have their daughters’ bodies, whole again.
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The Living

1/1/2016

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"Unconcerned but not indifferent”: the sole phrase carved into the gravestone of photographer Man Ray at the Mont Parnasse cemetery in Paris, France
 
I sit here on a bench today to eat my lunch,
breathing life into the cobblestoned paths.
I’m told the greenery draws the living,
luring them in for just an hour or two
to walk among the tombs.
 
Red and yellow flowers pop against gray stones,
some touched with green moss. I’ve been here
three times already. I can’t keep the words
of the artist out of my head: unconcerned but not indifferent,
a phrase to capture the feeling of dying.
 
No ivy snakes across his grave. Smooth as slate,
the only marks are the words, begging
me to erase twenty years worth of worrying.
Twenty years of wondering
when my breath will grow ragged.
 
And now I’ve traveled the Atlantic,
added hours to a day
without fearing losing them,
walked the rows of tombstones alone with no end
in mind, no plan for a day’s worth of walking
but for moving forward, going on; living.
 
How can I cling to fear
—now that I have seen Paris?
Lived and breathed and lost six hours
and not been afraid of
losing them
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Light Abroad

1/1/2016

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A single search light spins through the tall trees lining streets.
Beneath, two bikers follow it - the sole source
of sight on a quiet Friday evening.
2000 years ago on the same continent,
two different travelers, not quite as far from home,
followed the single star that illuminated their countryside.

The evening must have been similar - cool and clear,
shockingly silent, as if some bigger force was at play.

When the trees cleared and the low Paris skyline
allowed the bikers to see the source of the searchlight,
they were surprised by the sheer size of it.
The Eiffel Tower, 20 minutes shy of its hourly sparkling show,
filled the entire sky.

When they reached a good spot just in time to watch it shine,
the younger of the two continued to chase it,
letting the searchlight draw her nearer,
as once the star of Bethlehem led another young woman
to the beginning of a life.
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    Who am I?

    I'm Rory - UVA poetry grad working in the business world but trying to keep my love for writing alive.

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    Previous projects:
    2013 Photography Project
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    2014 Poetry Project
    52Project.weebly.com
    2015 Alternate Project
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