There are days where I remember
everything. Even your sheets. Miss you. So sick
of ghost stories. Fire every day. Angie
with the hot pink cardigan leans closer;
a full body mirror for my cold hands.
There’s lots to say and never the time. Who am I
kidding. Ignore this. Miss you. Would like to see
the lights with you again. Green, pink.
So fluorescent. So homecoming. Miss you looking
across the dead field. The desk. Hands so
steady. Pencil so pointed. Laughing. More than I
bargained for. The forest fire. Wish you
would come home for Christmas; call. It could
be so simple. Disregard this. Miss you
desperately. The way we laugh teeth. Miss you
upside down. Would like to stand in the water
with you. We wouldn’t have to talk.
Julia (she/her) is a reader and poet from New York. Drawing inspiration from artists such as Ocean Vuong, Victoria Chang, Tim O’Brien, and many others, her work can be found in/upcoming in the Eunoia Review, the Persimmon Review, Scribere, and a few other corners of the internet. She has attended multiple young writers workshops, the most recent one being the Sewanee Young Writers Conference, and has also had her work recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards numerous times. When free, you can find her baking lemon scones, playing bass, spending time with her cat, or watching murder mysteries.