photo & poem by Maia Foley, ’19

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It had been two days.
She gave him a string
Of wound black and blue,
Twisted and tied as the knots
In his stomach when he finally asked.
It had been two months.
She had finally met his family
And he had met hers.
They were going to the dance as a pair
And made plans far beyond
Their high school years together.
And the string grew stronger,
Made resilient by the wear
And weathering that it faced.
It had been two years.
The salted dew upon the grass blades
That covered her front lawn
When she lurched onto her tiptoes
Just once more to say goodbye,
To kiss his cheek before a final departure.
It had been two days.
The blue string tied around his wrist
Joined by one of purple and yellow,
As he kissed his mother goodbye
Shook his father’s hand once more
And gave his little sister one last squeeze.
It has been seven months.
The place on his wrist
Where the blue and black stripe resided
Sat a single strand of white;
And the salted dew on her bristled grass
Had frozen over with the sting of the third.

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