Photo by Rosie Lopolito

By Rosie Lopolito

After Victoria Chang

Memory—was born on December 4th

and died the following day of stress

or maybe neglect, whichever is easier

to swallow when the mature eldest

AFAB affliction sinks her polished

crooked teeth into glossy tomatoes

your grandparent—I can’t remember

which one—gave you on a mountain

across a handful of oceans and silt.

I search for your smile among rootless

parts, but there’s only a brush of straight

hair, warm arms, a lint-shaped friend

I miss like a wine-dark sea. Memory

withered and burned alone beneath

the weight of itself, so let us scatter

the ashes when we meet again, your

round face glowing under the moon

I have always loved.


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