Miss Me, Gently

By Diya Singh

Once in a blue moon, I wonder quietly to myself. 

If she ever hears my name in the din of the night - 

If somehow, the syllables of my surname scream at her in the darkness?

Do you find the twigs and branches, the desecrated remains of something we could not have?

Does your mother ever wonder what happened to the name that used to decorate your tongue?

I wonder if my absence still echoes in your mind or

If you remember my coffee order or the purple scarf I wore on our first date 

Or if the scent of the red roses you’d gotten me still lingers in your sheets?

I imagine it must take some herculean effort from you - 

To shove my touch and my smile back into your old jean pockets- 

To pretend you never felt them, or their sparkling absence.

It must kill you, right?

Because it kills me. 

It used to bring me to my knees in grocery stores and outside parties and in my home

To see your crushing indifference and romcom-eqsue happy ending 

I wished I would haunt you and her,

I prayed my tartness would linger in the bed you two share, 

Or in the toothpaste in your bathroom or

Atop the kitchen counter that you two argue over;

I begged the gods to scatter my oud and my vanilla

Over the coffee order you copied off of me and the 

Black polo you bought to impress me and 

The long demolished places we would frequent in our youth.

I hope I haunt you

Because I can tell you have faith in the fact that you haunt me -

Every morning, noon and night -

In my newly empty bed

And my all empty heart. 

By Diya Singh