New Year's Day

Years later, I think to myself
of course it was you
the first to give me all the things
I’d always longed for

The fear, the certainty
of being felt and being held
of wordless partnership
of a quiet smile and strength
in stillness

of a night I remember well
despite the chance that I’d forget
the flashing lights and hurried sights
and your arms around my waist

the missteps and almost falls
swept in, and out, and through
your face, cracked lips
And it’s those rough hands
on soft cheeks

and light fabric
and weary, bloodied legs
and the smell of you
that lingers where you were

What’s left, the question
of things
that aren’t quite real
and can’t and wouldn’t be
because of small biology

Because of those words
“I love you too”, at sunrise,
and “I can’t”, moments later
and my tears staining the sheets of your bed

And what is left of you,
for me?
Memories of a single night
lived once, in reality,
but many times in dreams

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Poetry
-
August 29,
2019
-
2-minute
read

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Devon Mitchell

is an amateur poet by day, and a fourth-year medical student at the University of British Columbia by (mostly) night. He enjoys spending his days off procrastinating studying by jogging, reading Instagram poetry, or eating potato chips.

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