The milk’s smudged expiration date
not warning enough to stop me roughly
yanking it from the crystallized shelf.
In the center of Smith’s, white lights
formed a halo around my head.
My tongue was young, almost angelic,
ignorant of lemons and curdled
dreams. Back home, mom moaned
about planting dead seeds, and
embracing clouds in vain. I knew
you would leave in two months,
and yet I kissed you anyway.
Alixa Brobbey spent portions of her childhood in both The Netherlands and Ghana before traveling to study English at Brigham Young University. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Canvas, The Blue Marble Review, The Battering Ram, and the Albion Review.