Stupid Girl
I imagine you’re young face
melting into the same sculpted mess
most faces of our generation do.
Are you relieved
that you did not survive?
I push my tongue hard into my cheek
forcing my features into your smile.
Pretty girl.
Ridiculous how words can change clay
into globs of sticky memory.
Now you’re a handmade doll
that sticks to mind-molding fingers.
I imagine the fine blonde hairs
on your arms,
you before your life fell apart.
Can I still love you
after all these crossed bridges
between us
and you dead?
I still want to.
Stupid girl.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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