Demolition Notice

Poem by Zoe Younessian

of saccharine rituals / of orange-netted gifts / of the kitchen that smelled of mulberries whenever it didn’t rain / of your ringless fingers circling mine / before men who reeked like the sea / hazy afternoons meant everything / peach slices in a ziploc bag / juice staining wrists / the outline of your smile morphing into marbled countertops / before salt & hurried marriages / you were always concerned with preservation / once said / mold grows when you mix sweetness with water / mold knows to steal anything with weight / like food / like distance / everything gone / remember when ma scolded us for mourning fallen houses / devoured by underbrush before the city / could steal their skeletons / i see none of you anymore / but your basket of peaches / rotten in the faltering lamplight / ma’s lingering words / what is demolished must have never been missed / yet absence has a weight / yet i called for your shadow’s demolition / still the mold grows / and grows / and grows