Poetry by Noreen Ocampo
In the refrigerator:
an unopened bottle of orange juice with
half the sugar already missing
because my mother remembered
my scowling face at the store.
My father has not yet tired of smiling at me
even when he has smiled
sixty years straight & the years have been
too cloudy a mirror.
Old friends fill me with laughter
strong enough to open
windows despite the mid-afternoon.
With new faces, I write fireflies into existence,
closing our miles & hours with light.
brushes his teeth & presses his bristles
into silence in the bathroom between our bedrooms
so I will not stumble on the way to sleep.
The next morning,
waking will come with reasons.
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.