Mom gave me that blue-tailed mermaid so I could forget about you.
I knew the strands of yellow yarn hair would tangle
and tear, knotted nightmares under my twin bed cot.
I wish you could see her now, blue scaly tail,
yellow yarn hair,
and a big fat belly.
Tell me, how did she grow a waist so big?
That blue-tailed mermaid, a waste
of a gift to lift my drooping eyes
and pinched tight smile.
Silent prayers all while tracing that belly,
bracing your absence, a race
until that blue-tailed mermaid and
I left your side.
No, you.
You left, except your breath still
swims free in the hallways, I’ll always
know drowning
from death. I wish I tried,
goodbye was not a word I could even
whisper your way. I still hurt
and hold my breath today like I held
that blue-tailed mermaid,
tight,
tight
around the neck.
Mom gave me that blue-tailed mermaid so I could forget about you,
but now all it reminds me of is how sorry I felt,
squeezed into my jeans,
knelt under your favorite tree
trying hard to remember.
December came and you were gone.
Ruby Rose Moscone