With Laurels in Her Hair
My friend and I knock knees, tangled up on her couch, fingers intertwined, and I choose to love her.
There’s a thrill in knowing her,
A pleasure in our intimacy.
This close, I can feel her breath on my cheek,
And I try to think of something to say to make her laugh.
I try to hold as much of her as I can —
For the times when we’re apart.
There’s so much of her, though, and when I can’t quite remember,
I have to make something up.
I remember she’s impossible,
and brave,
and clever,
so I make her a goddess.
It’s the only way I can imagine anything half as beautiful as her.
In my memory, she has laurels in her hair.
And when her hair brushes my cheek as she lays her head on my shoulder,
I wonder how I remembered her so much smaller than she is.
Persephone Kirkland Delatte (they/them) is the aesthetic coordinator for Periwinkle Literary Magazine and a grad student. They are a writer and an illustrator, and they also make jewelry, embroider, and speak Italian. They are currently working on a debut YA sci-fi / fantasy series, and their poetry has been published by F(r)iction and The Mark Literary Review.
Comentarios