what stays

This is the last year that things will be this way

and then you’ll leave and it’ll feel like death—

that’s the thing.

Nobody gets to stay.

It’s 1 AM and I am mourning,

good morning,

nothing has happened to you yet.

It’s 7 AM on the highway and everyone is proud of me

perfectly coasting and merging

and emerging from my shell.

I eventually approach a stop light.

It’s 12:30 PM at the coffee shop by the library

and soon we won’t have lunch like this anymore.

The crumbs on my skirt trail on the floor

and soon enough we’ll be following them out the door.

Different directions.

It’s 5 PM when I miss my exit in a roundabout

and I’m going in circles and up a big hill

and the Sun is blinding me.

I’m squinting because I can’t see the road ahead.

The music’s all the same.

Maybe we’ll all write letters like we say we will

with trinkets and kiss marks enclosed.

I hate that this is how life goes.

It’s 9 PM and I’m sitting on the floor of my old room,

and I keep asking myself,

“What stays?”

The stars in the sky and the breath in my lungs

and the silence that winter brings.

It will snow and I will be alone for a moment.

It will all be still.

I will be still, and still here.

Emma’s publications include An Ode to Jeff in bitter melon review, Penny. in COOP – chickens of our poetry, and ABSENCE! in elysian literary. Instagram @ewilliquette and Substack @williquette.