(For Anna, 12 years gone)
When I think of you,
I think of the composition notebooks you collected over the years.
I didn’t know how much of you would live on
in the small things I carry now.
Now I hoard them too.
I love how our handwriting curls in the same rounded way,
how you filled your notebooks with names of celebrities,
and now I write about you in mine,
like you’re some A-list actor who was gone too soon.
Because in my poetry,
you are the lead.
When I think of you,
I think of how you used to say my name—
a whisper shaped by effort,
with very little sound.
You were mute.
And I didn’t get it the gravity of it then,
how much love it took
to force out those syllables
with a voice that barely worked.
But thinking about it now,
it was like music,
a one-note lullaby
I’d pay anything to hear again.
When I think of you,
I think of red lipsticks,
how you were obsessed with them,
how you had to pay in installments
to that one Avon lady in our neighborhood.
Your love for makeup has become a part of me now.
You really did a number on me when you left.
If you were still here,
I’d buy you every perfect red ever made.
I just know how you'd clutch those lipsticks
to keep them away from everyone,
just like Dorothy and her ruby slippers.
Now tell me,
if I wear the rubiest of lipsticks,
click my lips together three times,
will you come back home?
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 7:16 AM UTC
(For Anna, 12 years gone)
When I think of you,
I think of the composition notebooks you collected over the years.
I didn’t know how much of you would live on
in the small things I carry now.
Now I hoard them too.
I love how our handwriting curls in the same rounded way,
how you filled your notebooks with names of celebrities,
and now I write about you in mine,
like you’re some A-list actor who was gone too soon.
Because in my poetry,
you are the lead.
When I think of you,
I think of how you used to say my name—
a whisper shaped by effort,
with very little sound.
You were mute.
And I didn’t get it the gravity of it then,
how much love it took
to force out those syllables
with a voice that barely worked.
But thinking about it now,
it was like music,
a one-note lullaby
I’d pay anything to hear again.
When I think of you,
I think of red lipsticks,
how you were obsessed with them,
how you had to pay in installments
to that one Avon lady in our neighborhood.
Your love for makeup has become a part of me now.
You really did a number on me when you left.
If you were still here,
I’d buy you every perfect red ever made.
I just know how you'd clutch those lipsticks
to keep them away from everyone,
just like Dorothy and her ruby slippers.
Now tell me,
if I wear the rubiest of lipsticks,
click my lips together three times,
will you come back home?