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You Say

by Christie Leigh Babirad, 2020

You wear the sweater she gave you.
You say it’s to prove you are not held by the past.
This dark blue terry fits you just right.
A sentimental memory of hers,
worn with a first kiss over a foreign sea.
This was given in deep commitment
to the forever friendship she believed she shared with you.
You don’t need to remember, you say,
for this piece serves you so practically.
It’s almost as if it was never worn
over the heart you let go of so carelessly.
You say.