Poetry by Noreen Ocampo
In memoriam of what was mine
There are pieces of me you can never return. During the silence between dreams, your whorls & arches whisper over me — gently, as if afraid I will splinter in your hands, as if you have not watched me do so a million times before. Perhaps my fragility no longer phases you. Each night, your fingers revisit, desperately seeking the unoccupied spaces that once housed the pieces of me you claimed as your own, even when those
fragments have no home in my body anymore, even when I was asleep & open, vulnerable & yours, despite everything. Those pieces of me are no longer mine. Tuck them back into your pockets, beneath those spiderweb memories whose strands you will never be able to pluck out. Carry them for me, despite how heavy they may someday become. I will lay here as your skin leaves mine & my body begins to unlearn you.
Noreen Ocampo (she/her) is a Filipina American writer double-majoring in English and Film Studies at Emory University. She is also currently a book reviewer for COUNTERCLOCK, a very amateur singer-songwriter, and an Animal Crossing enthusiast. In the future, Noreen aims to fulfill a role in the intersection between storytelling and education. She is a regular contributor for Marías at Sampaguitas.