There’s a bottle of black nail polish collecting dust above my dresser The bottle is stout and plain It was only used once Foolishly I spent last summer Repainting every nail Until they all fell off

The day after tomorrow is your birthday I ought to have known I remember it falling on a rainy Wednesday last year I lay on astroturf And wondered if I’d ever see you again

The last bit of polish lasted on my finger through the November cold On December 1st In my Philosophy class I noticed it was far gone I thought about the night we all painted ours And mourned change for a little bit

A girl reached out to us today I’m sitting in silence with a message that I will never respond to I feel guilty Then remember I am healed And ready to go about life without any reminders of you

Here is a book. Talk to it. Tell it the secret your sister made you swear you’d keep. Tell it about the line for coffee at the cafe this morning. When he lies, shake your head. When he’s kind, bat your eyes. Laugh at the jokes, even when they’re not funny. It’s okay that you got it wrong. Try again. You are not a failure. Don’t you ever let them think that. You will grow with time and care. Treat yourself. You always look good. You are always shining. At times you will collapse. And your people will be there to carry you. You are all-authentic. Admirable and polite. Held, beheld, beloved.

The stars splatter the sky like they were born to take your breath away I often wonder if it’s all some sort of cruel joke Driving into the sunset Thinking about how if the sun was to explode The first thing we’d do is whip out our cameras to capture its beauty

A year and a little has gone by I keep you locked up still I’m too stubborn, my mother likes to tell me I’d like to imagine my therapist would say the same My parents will not let me get a therapist

This year instead we journeyed back along the shore Right past a pond where I fell apart for the very first time A summer unlike our own Where I couldn’t prevent you from the same fate

Did you know ‘Gone With the Wind’ is the highest grossing movie of all time? It supposedly popularized colored film A friend of mine recently told me she wanted to be a film colorist when she was younger I used to want to be a gymnast Until I quit in fourth grade

It is those moments I often return to Saccharine-tinted clips Not necessarily placed in a correct order Sitting along the dock of a small pond in Vermont All together Smiling Walking along the park I used to regularly visit for field trips Listening to the cicadas And our voices Overlapping one another’s carefully

I just can’t find it in myself To bring with me what hasn’t fully left The ticket stub from a movie I don’t quite enjoy enough to keep But kept anyways A reminder that I cannot turn away from things That make me uncertain A boarding pass cartooning the longest boat ride of my life I lost three years on that ferry They slipped away from me like visions of a boy Who walked out quietly And never came back He shut the door wide open

In the morning I become a bear My outfits vary, but I have yet to retire the scuffed pair of black Blundstones my mother handed down to me Her feet are too small and mine are just a little too big I’m blistering all over And I want to go home

I’ve been trying to make progress on a book my first-cousin-once-removed gifted to me It’s a collection of selected poems and commentary on Emily Dickinson I’ve never enjoyed Dickinson But I need her to believe I tried My contributions to the family are lacking, and I’m always in my little sister’s shadow I wonder what they wished I’d be I hope I didn’t let them down too much

I broke a pencil marking my height on my bedroom wall today Nothing much has changed I’m still the tallest girl in the world The wall used to be marked up floor to ceilling But my father tore it down and painted over what was left Just so we could fit more summer shoes under the 6x3 French “Pianos Daude" I never liked that poster, but I obliged Packed up my stuff and watched the world get smaller Under the shelter of some ugly swallows We never changed the wall color, and I liked it that way

Why does the food coop now sell raspberries larger than my pinky toe? I’ve peered in to almost every shop on 7th Avenue Looking for a faceless someone to entertain my long walk I’ve grown to detest the chain stores along my route home But recently I’ve enjoyed the one-way encounters turning down 8th Even in the mornings Looking as I do A silent rage between my bear teeth

In the process of writing the clock in my peripheral has changed from 2:54 PM to 2:55 PM Time refuses to wait for me But I’m almost ready, I promise I’ve laced up my braids and put on my best smile It is 2:57 PM Time to go

I’ve tried to encapsulate In any way good enough for you The fat pimple I grew on a smooth sea of sweat But I still cannot provide Proper justification for myself As to why I marched up To the tattoo artist on East 18th street And asked for double-knotted shoelaces Just above my elbow

When the ink was overdone The swelling began And I became a large balloon Afloat in the air Rich in its affluents But slightly low in oxygen I was ridden to my bed For years passing in seconds Until I wrapped myself up Put on my brown boots And stepped outside to meet you