When Pandora opened her box
she left behind
my mother’s perfume
that bottles the shape of the sunrise,
the taste of rosemary and lavender
dandelion wine and jasmine tea,
and the sound of city lights
and of raindrops and hope
pattering
on our bathroom tiles
When the moon left the sky
it left behind the wrinkled sea
and the smoke of the stars.
It left behind
my sister’s mahogany piano
that plays in tune with the colors
of silk rustling through fingertips,
of cracked voices and late-night drives,
of radio static and dancing children,
of sun kissed laughter through silver tears,
and beautiful beautiful heartache
When the saints left this Earth
they left behind
their prayers and us sinners.
They left behind my father’s whiskey bottle
which is cursed with the grit
of cold apartment floors against flaming skin,
burning films and lonely pill bottles,
weary cigarettes and tired aching smiles,
empty promises and sunlight through
the church’s dusty windows
When the gods leave
We’ll be left behind.
The mother nursing
her pink faced child
The couple that sits
with their pinkies lightly touching
The bruised girl
curled on her grandfather’s lap
Our frothing rage and our foaming arrogance
Our shining hatred and our glorious truth
Our brutal wars and our crumpled innocence
Our tears and our pain and our faith and our love
We’ll be left behind.
Amelia Ao lives in Wayland, Massachusetts with her parents and sister. Art and writing have been a fundamental part of her identity, and she’s excited to be sharing her work.