by Aimee Nicole

These fading sheets are haunted by the ghost of you.

I rip them off to sleep bare on the mattress.

Burnt hickory leaves fall past my window and

remind me that every stage is temporary.

My cat licks my (now) ringless fingers resting

by my hips that couldn’t carry the burden of you.

My new life is stuffed with sweetness that tastes unusually tart.

I didn’t know that for the longest time you were pouring lemon

squeeze in my burns because I told myself it was love.


Featured in our May 2021 issue, "Re:collection"