You were like that day in March
the one that teases of Spring
of the hope for sunshine
of warmth.
We walked the windy streets
side by side
Fall wind chasing away daylight
into frigid evenings.
But in those evenings
standing on cracked concrete
I felt your warmth
like an Indian Summer.

He moved
He is lost to me
Yet he is here
Haunting.

He follows me
with every screech
of chair and table
on tile floors.

He reminds me
with every ride
of the subway
as I search for him.

Physically, he has moved
just like
Physically, he wasn’t ever mine.

But

Emotionally, he is still here
just like
Emotionally, he was mine.

Our memories intertwined.

There was a house:
Allen Avenue, 04103

As far as I can remember
It wasn't ever a home.

It stood empty
and decayed along the busy road:

A reminder in white peeling paint
and single-pane windows
of what the neighborhood was.

All through my childhood it remained,
and decayed, and observed.

And the summer I came home,
freshman year of college done,
so was the house.
So was the home of my childhood.

I want to live in a world
where I can be proud
of my body
And not fear that I’m a 12, not a 2
and accept myself.

I want to live in a world
where men are valued
on television
And women are not always supreme
in their tiny dresses.

I want to live in a world
where I do not have to fear
for my saftey
And not have to tell a friend I’m going
for a walk.

I want to live in a world
where I can walk home alone
at night
And not have every creak, every thud
set me on edge.

I want to live in a world
where gender equality
is real
And is not split through medial portrayal
and unsafe reality.

“I am so proud”
you wrote
“of my intelligent, hardworking,
engaging and lovely…
niece.”
Not daughter.
Niece.
Yes, she is all those things,
but just once
when I do something
important
would it be so hard to
acknowledge it?
But no, that would be asking
too much.
The only thing that remains
is for me to be angry.
Not with you, with myself,
for actually being surprised
that it was her title after those
adjectives

and not mine.

The door began to close
I noticed a man run
for it.
I stopped the door
and looked up.
And there he was.
New glasses
Same green shirt
Same bright eyes.
He hugged me, like friends do.
A far cry from our last embrace,
lasting only a few seconds
instead of a painfully beautiful eternity.
We talked like we had before.
But when we parted this time,
I looked him in the eye.
“Goodbye, Chris”
And I meant it.

I called you
in search of a lightbulb.
After three months
of no contact,
and my feelings
remaining unchanged,
I expected the worst.
But, it actually was
for the best.
You never called me back.
No, instead you emailed me:
a cold, impersonal note
giving me only the required
information,
giving me only a hint
of what was.
Not particularly romantic
but quite realistic.
You’ve moved on.
Maybe I should, too.