By Ashley O’Hare
I remember everything:
the coffee lingering on your breath,
the callous on your hand,
your half-tucked shirt,
your disappearing summer tan.
I have tried to scrub the memories.
I have denied the recollection.
I refuse to accept
a less than wonderful history.
The flashes come less frequently now;
fewer cars in my neighborhood look like yours.
I don’t understand how,
but I survived your treachery.