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1 poem
by Miriam Alex

Miriam Alex (she/her) is a 17 year-old from southern New Hampshire. Her work is published or forthcoming in Frontier Poetry, Gigantic Sequins, Gone Lawn, and Uncanny Magazine. At the moment, she is likely playing word games on her phone. She tweets at @miriamcore_.

For What It's Worth

Your cardigan is still hanging

on the doorknob. I didn’t sell

the plant. The curtains hold

their shape. The waitress still knows

your order, and you still know how to nurse

an accident. Your face, flushed

like the burns against my wrists. Breakfast

at seven. Our laundry isn’t folded yet. Soft,

tired shirts. Our fathers and their vinyl

rings and their wedding bands

gone missing. A record,

loveless and pale. How we’ve never seen

a sequoia, but planned a trip to the edge

of what we knew again

and again. I look for honey

for our pancakes and the moon

for our love letters. When I heard the engine

shudder and the eggs

scald on the stove, I braced. Not a breath.

All of this, still ours.


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