Portrait of an Ex-Girlfriend |
Meg Nadine Wenzel
I repainted her eyes over and over
until they looked like I remembered.
It's been so many years but
it was once my favorite color,
grasshopper-in-the-shifting-sun.
She's moss, I'm an end-of-life redwood
cut down to frame the photo
they used in the obituary.
Nobody knows what it's like to kiss me.
The only knowledge-keeper has died
to a drunken wrong-way driver who forced
me to my knees, forced me
to the mirror after dinner
visceral in the evening
due west light of the last day
she lived.
She was your first love,
can you ever really push those feelings down?
They're as big as a whale
beached at her closed-casket, bellowing
to my murdered girl
friend
with songs no-one else understands.
Something washed Stagnance from my body—
it's hard to do anything
when she's still a kid inside my head, dead and
leaving me with secret closet kiss memories.
Loneliness washed Something from my body—
the knowings we didn't talk about
̶w̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ can't get talked about.
​
In the car, driving to my friends in silence
because every song somehow changes meaning.
I feel dried tears on my face
a residue not unlike her chapstick
cheek kisses.
We take lots of pictures now
in case we say see ya later
without knowing later
means a memorial with free coffee.
​
​
—
Dedicated to Rylee Madison Hanson (2005-2026). I might miss you for eternity, whatever that entails.
Meg Nadine Wenzel is a college sophomore studying English & Creative Writing + Archaeology with unclear goals of (maybe?) ending up in museum studies. Caffeine addict, vintage maven, collector of all things strange, Meg is a mystery even to herself. Outside of her devotion to Pink Ochre, find her work in Red Clay Magazine and The Broken Teacup.