i remember the way you smelled/when you'd
put on cologne and it would sink into your
skin. you always wore the same kind of
smell like the ground and sweat and tea
leaves: you left too.
i tend to think about the moments
when i would curl up in your lap
and rest my head near your neck,
where your adam's apple moved
up and down my skin as you read.
you wanted me to grow up to be a good girl.
you wanted me to turn out alright.
and you used to talk about how
beautiful i was going to be and
how i'd always have you no
i remember, i really do.
and i can still hear you/feel you when i
read plato or socrates or suess. i still
know the way you sounded ten minutes
before bedtime when i would do anything
to stay awake. you never did let me.
and you used to kiss me on the
forehead, clear your throat and
put me to sleep and i'd go to
bed knowing i was loved.
and i remember every cologne you've
valentine's day is always the hardest
as i cannot go through it without
remembering being on a plane to
california and knowing you were
dead in a coffin somewhere and i
knew i'd have to see your body cold
and your soul seeped away and
you were the only love id ever
known and so i did not want to
celebrate anything that celebrated
i remember scratching at the
airplane window and wondering
what the ice cream in my 4th grade
classroom might taste like. i remember
coming home to valentine's from
cruel nine year olds. they said:
"hello fatso, where have you been
for a week." and i remember i
it is a street i am often forced upon:
i look for the imprint your body
may have left forever in the bark
of that tree. i slow down everytime
i take that curve. i am never the
one driving: but i always slow down.
i replay in my mind what i am blessed
to have not seen: i know what it must
have been like for you to slip away.
it must have been so cold, as february
tends to be that way. you must have
cried once you found out it was
instantaneous. you must have known
it was the last time you'd see your
body as you slipped away higher
and higher into the sky.
i must have stopped breathing when
they told me.
once you told me.
there will be colors
you've never known,
you've never heard,
you've never smelled,
youve never thought,
and the best waves
you could ever surf.
tell me, what is it like?
My name is Lacey and
I feel more than fifteen years of age should warrant. I write because
I have to: it is like involuntary muscle spasms. I miss my uncle: he was
my father and loved me more than anyone ever can. He is like a ghost limb;
i keep petting the air to see if he's there. I live in Colorado, it is
very cold here. I got high school, it is very cold there as well. I'm
hoping to be published in the upcoming year, but right now I'll settle
for my own mediocrity. I do not think I'm beautiful. The End.