I’ve never seen you cry in blue,
even now that you are free to wash your food with salt
before consuming. You never cried
in streams or drizzles either but as tiny glaciers of crystalized
emotion, hoping I’d sit long enough
for them to dissolve. You never tried
to cry in colour – I told you once that was too simple.
You cried for me in pages, in shards of teacups I marked up
with lipstick. You cried them out like beads and
left the day I came to love the search for them more
than I loved decoding your sadness.
Margaryta Golovchenko is an undergrad student at the University of Toronto, Canada, and serves as an editor for the journals The Spectatorial and Half Mystic. Her work has appeared in places such as [parenthetical], Three Drops from a Cauldron, Luna Luna Magazine, and others, while her debut poetry chapbook "Miso Mermaid" is forthcoming this fall from words(on)pages press. She is an avid tea drinker and collector of trinkets, and is convinced she spent one of her past lives as a hedgehog. When not maneuvering around her mountain of to-be-read books she can be found sharing her (mis)adventures on Twitter @Margaryta505.