Poetry by Emma Foster

           ​Jeff CC



i never thought i would want to be fourteen again

Havendale Road off Avenue C
At seven thirty at night, where we pull out the camping chairs
And reconnoiter in front of the auto parts store.
Where we watch the overwhelming stimuli
Of flickering balloons red, yellow, and green,
Of the sirens wailing through the Southern humidity,
Dubble Bubble gum smashed into the gravel.
When we didn’t get to your house until eleven-
Late for us, you know-
Windowsills ripe with algae,
And the beige linoleum,
Our sleeping bags splayed on the browning carpet,
And I, looking out at where you’re pointing to Ursa Major
And smelling the pungent lavender soap of the bathroom,
I hear you talk about skipping anatomy,
How you tried, but never finished, Les Misérables.
Then you ask for some of my Doritos
Just as the memory fades, and I wake up at two am
On a Sunday four states away
And realize love and loss has made me old.
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Emma Foster is a fiction writer and poet from Florida. She has been published in the Cedarville Review, Voices of the Valley, Ariel Chart, and she is forthcoming in Sledgehammer Lit and Nailpolish Stories. 

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