I Woke Up And We Were Twenty-One
By Amelia Fry
It is the unremembered days that I miss the most
The days woven together by fleeting fragments of memory:
Smudged eyeliner, forgotten lyrics to our favourite songs,
Borrowing from our mother’s makeup bag
to apply foundation that was older than we were
as we lay sprawled out on a crooked floor.
We were children together in everything innately human
Doing all of the things that should have been beyond our age,
whilst still making it home for dinnertime.
These days were the making of me.
Now I sit around a sticky bar table
staring through a self-inflicted haze
at faces that I would not have recognised a year ago.
I am six hundred miles and four years away
Wondering what parts of you they hear as I speak.