Dear Aaron,
I travel from your lap to weird places in your head.
Your wise words are all pickled-shaped and
lost among your bills and downstairs neighbors.

Your tee shirts are from the camp I didn't go to
and are old, stained with nothing cute.
We never go anywhere.
The laundry doesn't count.

Your apartment is small enough for a cat.
You can believe what you want about them,
but they are kinder than you.

Your ex left a message on the phone that
is now half-paid by me.
I deleted her best words and will repeat them in my sleep.

If your parents ask why I am painted floorboards
and a pierced lip,
tell them I lost you a month ago when your

ex asked if you enjoyed lunch as much as she did.
Where was I when you shared your tuna
breath and birthmark across your wrist?

Tell your mother that the picture frame she
got me for my birthday was cheap.
The paper dog family that came with it is
the best part of either of you.

Amy Soricelli has been published in numerous publications and anthologies including Remington Review, The Westchester Review, Deadbeats, Long Island Quarterly, Literati Magazine, The Muddy River Poetry Review, Pure Slush, Cider Press Review, Glimpse Poetry Magazine, and many others. Carmen has No Umbrella but Went for Cigarettes Anyway (Dancing Girl Press 9/2021). Sail Me Away (Dancing Girl Press, 10/2019). Nominations: Pushcart, 2021, "Best of the Net"  2020, 2013. Nominated by Billy Collins for Aspen Words Emerging Writer's Fellowship/2019, Grace C. Croff Poetry Award, Herbert H Lehman College, 1975.