Poem by Lorelei McEwen
Art by Alex Hoang
You were not divine.
You were soft and brittle. You hurt gently.
Quietly.
I couldn’t hear you.
You will be remembered as a wistful hammock. The bark to your back. You lived amongst the leaves. You were a sun-born. Summer-grown. Half-witted hairpins and barrettes, tangled in shifty skirts—oh, how you were a playful thing.
I couldn’t handle you and I’m sorry
Contempt was the beast.
And all along,
I thought it was just you.