Poetry by Noreen Ocampo

little magicians

for Jhordan

My father says

I used to pout by the front door

with my full moon face

crumpled in my hands

after my favorite cousin’s inevitable

goodbyes. But all I remember is

conjuring the Sahara

in our orange hallways & together

trekking across those impossible sands.

During tea parties, we sparkled

pink lemonade until our silver cups

brimmed with rose tea.

We made omelets with

American cheese sliced into smaller shapes

& gaped as forgotten plastic

tagged along for the ride. & then

we grew up, but this, for some reason,

I can’t remember at all.

Noreen Ocampo (she/her) is a Filipina American writer and poet based in metro-Atlanta. She studies English, film, and media at Emory University and currently writes for COUNTERCLOCK and {m}aganda magazine. She is also a regular contributor for Marías at Sampaguitas. Say hi on Twitter @maybenoreen!