The cursive of your hair
on shower tiles—curtain
folded with half moon &
wolf howl—empty vials
of Ren Faire oils named
things like Ancient Wood-
land & Icelandic Women’s
Rugby Team—a notebook
jotted with the oldest date
we spotted at the cemetery
—no first name, only wife
sister friend because, you
said, headstones aren’t left
for the dead—but I worry
about nail clippings tucked
between carpet & trim,
which creaks in the stairs
were our fault or the space
on a lease our names will
keep share sharing—here
is a love note, two tenants
old, I’m letting fall behind
the fridge again, & here’s
a set of keys to locks of hair
I haven’t got around
to leaving you.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 4.
Ella Flores is a creative writing PhD student at Binghamton University, is the Editor-in-Chief of Harpur Palate, Interview Editor for The Shore Poetry, and has work appearing or forthcoming in Radar Poetry, Permafrost, Red River Review, National Poetry Review, FOLIO, and others.
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