Sometimes I feel like Esma.
How she hugs the air,
It’s caftan arms somehow
hugging her back.
There’s a safe sentiment to it.
You rely on the sun
the way that she relies on Novalie,
she isn’t there yet Esma
isn’t as alone as they all think.
And sometimes she leaks
into my window with the streaks
of light that remind me
I’m still alive.