Back to Issue 8

I Remember by Jennifer Lisa Vest

Three legged mahogany table
By the door holding
You smiling last October
On the yard where I caught you
Framed you
Laughing
So I could always
Remember you
That way

Glass goblet thin crystal
Keeps odd shaped seashells
We collected last summer
Late after lying long
Talking soft
About death
About your parents
Our imagined children
When the ocean roared
Echoing our exhaustion

The bedroom closet
Cramped and dark
Lightbulb gone
Hides the broken leather
Sandals you wore
Your belt I cut new holes in
And a singular sock you forgot

The box of whole wheat flour
The annais, the cardamom
The foofoo mix, the ginger pickle
Are all trails you left
In the kitchen for the ants
(I don't eat them anymore)

The sandalwood soap
In a bag under the sink
Next to the henna hair goo
Keeps my bathroom smelling of you

And though you don't call me
Your thought s of me
Bombard me every
Waking morning
Each reclining night

I don't play the music
You like anymore
And I've long since
Given up crying
Still, you seep into my dreams
And torment me
And I remember
Everything you ever said.