moments i’m alone, left to my own,
i get visions of you — your face, your voice, your love.
how close your heart was to your head and how you took every situation with a teaspoon of level-headedness.
there’s a jack-o’-lantern head covering the 76 gas station sign off sunset.
i drive to class, hoping to see you on the way to meet me, sipping tea.
from sophomore language theory to senior rhetorical analysts.
we grew as girls & storytellers together,
the first to befriend me, we divulged on lana del rey’s lyrics & our mutual love of poetry,
so i never thought you wouldn’t be there when you always were.
three hours every wednesday normally carved out for you.
we would talk about femininity & community & rhetorical space in our space.
it’s felt so odd without you there this time.
it’s the week after, so we trudge on in your honor.
but i think about you so much.
every time i choose tea instead of coffee,
or the way your loopy handwriting sat so well on the pages in books that remember you best.
i hope you live on in your literature.
you were nothing if not a writer.
i’ll remember you for your wisdom, for your words.
how lucky the world was to have you.
you mystified me & yet you were nothing but open & honest.
always said what i was thinking, but in a better way than i ever could’ve figured out.
there was never envy,
just kindness.
my emotions come in like the ocean.
but thankfully the beach brings me back to you.
so i can still see you when i want,
in the white foamy waves that froth alongside Point Dume,
since after all, the sand still holds memories of you.
i just hope the world remembers you too.
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Contact Emma Ibarra via email: Emma.Ibarra@pepperdine.edu
