Slip-Up//Alone Again
Maya Gabby

crooked blinds hang open sullenly
worn bed springs creak, come alive
there are no sheets, knees drag on tired blue plastic
clothes strewn carelessly, industrial carpeting

broken glass shoulder blades, illuminated
as trauma toned yellow street lights
catch in dilated green eyes, tears form

brown sugar moving against licorice
sweetness caught between teeth and tongue

she remembers him differently
back when time stopped, went on, was imprecise
they slid swiftly into last spring, together

now, there is a summer between them
missing twisted floral print, an arm around her waist
a miniature garden on the windowsill
where love blossomed, he was tender

they were a box of skin colored crayons
a sort of Picasso knock off, incomplete
morning freshness filtering in, stained glass

success used to taste like sour kisses
barefoot, treading softly through grass

tripping over old pine roots, words
fingers on fading coats of mahogany stain
a rickety fence she built with her father
hidden corner of cracked, California dirt

where tulips sometimes blossomed
and doves mate for life, is where they
laid their youthful love to rest

tonight’s attempt at resurrection gone awry
this heavy dorm door creaks one last sigh