Zoey Marcus

though we will only meet when i have lived enough 

i wonder if in my living there is you 

I wonder if your fingertips pruned up quickly like mine 

and if you fixed your posture like I do, stretching and stiffening 

I wonder if you felt your own heartbeat to make sure it was still there 

and if you checked your alarm three times before sleeping 

I wonder if your anger was like my anger 

and if your hungers were the same too 

I wonder if you thought of the gun mounted on your wall and tasted the thunder in your throat and i wonder, Zelda, if you practiced your last words each night before you slept over and over until you resigned to rest 

and what were they, your last words 

and what were my first words 

and were they the same words 

and were both of our words, your last and my first 

spoken softly to your daughter, my mother 

i want to know because I am watching over her 

she smells more of coffee cake than baby powder 

and she is still watching milky white sheep in the night as they float up and crash forward she waits for anyone’s call and her white walls remain empty 

except for a big circle mirror where she can find your reflection 

and her sister waits for us so we’ll take the faster route rather than the safest and together we look through pictures of you 

her sister says it will haunt her forever 

the one with your nails done and the icy blue fabric that clings to your beautiful body 

the moon makes her way towards the water 

bottled milk runs lukewarm 

white light wavers, dances on the ebbing surface 

and you are watching me wilt 

we are wilting 

while we are meant to be birthing new seeds and blossoming 

blood drips down my thighs and i thank you for giving me a sign 

because when I babysit I feel like a real mom and that their babbles are really for me and when i have soft white hair and crinkled cheeks i want to look just like you

Zelda like water lilies and thick fog and pink hues reflected in sink water Zelda like spring tea sets and chipped teeth and puffy white lounge chair cushions Zelda like untouched hotel rooms and embroidered jewelry pouches with matching eye lens cloths 

Zelda like bicolored macintosh apples and gray beetles that look like dried leaves 

when the mother cries, does the child comfort? does the guilt spread? is it generational? will my daughter know where her goosebumps come from? what about the rhythm in her chest, Zelda? 

i am named after you because you passed before i was born 

i picture you in florals and whites and with strong hands 

it is custom that we’ve never met 

i am only so close to you because i’ve never met you 

it is custom 

when i remember what it means to feel guilty i go to my rooftop and listen to the wind i watch the world around me sleep and watch the children in the windows watch me i am only able to return to the stairwell and to my door and to my bed 

because how can it be right that i take away the only thing you’ve ever wanted for me? 

i am living as you, Zelda 

but when i do find my way to the ground not today and not tomorrow 

i will become the waterlilies and the thick fog and every hue reflected in my mother’s big circle mirror 

and from ashes to ashes 

dawn to dusk 

i will taste your name in my mouth 

because it is so sweet and it is mine