AN OPEN POEM FROM A NOT YET OVER IT LOVER

I was broke that winter in Ohio.

So when you came over

I could only grow more ashamed

at the coldness of my shitty

college apartment.

At the emptiness of my fridge

that I could only offer your vegan body

a Stouffers chicken and pasta microwavable meal.

At how my even shitter room slowly diminished

in furnishings

that we had to share space and warmth

on a mattress on the floor.

But it was Christmas.

And I loved you because you don’t

ask me about any of it.

The moment is almost ruined

because as I wrap every dollar I saved 
around your neck 
your hair gets tangled 
on the dangling Christmas lights— a small attempt

to still make the most of the night.

But you manage a soft smile just for me.

It isn’t until many moments later,

after the break-up

that I realize that you still wear that

fucking necklace, everyday.

And every photo and pass-by are just

more moments of that once mine smile.

I am not “over it,” because even more than that

are all the moments where I gave up

my Maslows hierarchy of needs.

There is something

that I have lost or forgotten.

It is something

that I cannot name. It is cold
and beyond the knowings of nostalgia.

But it is something
that hangs around your neck.

It is why I am not over it.

-sonja lynn mata