Colors drip off your
fingertips like rain
drips off trees
after the clouds have gone.
Red reminds me of soft
touches and flushed cheeks,
of shared smiles and
quick glances.
Blue reminds me of the
cover of Macbeth,
open to show your
scribbled mess of black underlines
and notes and question marks.
I remember your hand writing steadily
beside me and
the whispered jokes that
float across the couch to me.
Green reminds me of
the hula girl that swayed
on your dashboard as you
took me to the botanical gardens.
Of the dollar bills that spilled
out of your pocket
to pay for books you knew
you’d never read.
Of your favorite shirt.
I remember your fingers running
through your sandy hair while you
drank black
coffee until the sun came up.
It was yellow, the day we decided to end it, the sun
coming in through the windows,
teasing us.
Mallory Schirm is a junior English major at Birmingham-Southern College. She is the Editor-in-Chief of the Southern Academic Review, an editor of the student magazine, and a Writing Center tutor. Although she prefers the literary aspect of the English major, she has just began to dabble in creative writing.