by Chrys Tobey
Made of paper and popsicle sticks. Made of sadness.
This part carries my past loves. This part has my childhood,
my shame. This part holds my loss. I am sailing it down
a stream of rainwater. I have painted it orange because someone
I once loved wore this color. I don’t know if you’ll ever find it.
Maybe you will, but you won’t want it. Maybe you’ll be too afraid.
If so, please just slip it in a drawer somewhere, somewhere
you can find when your heart is break, and then unfold it,
unfold my sadness and please float a tiny boat back that
reads, I am afraid and you are afraid. But that’s okay
Chrys Tobey’s first poetry book, A Woman is a Woman is a Woman is a Woman, was published by Steel Toe Books in 2017. Her poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, featured in Verse Daily, and published in numerous literary journals, including Ploughshares, The Cincinnati Review, New Ohio Review, Rattle, Smartish Pace and the minnesota review. Chrys lives, teaches, and dreams of goats in Portland, Oregon.
Hawaii Pacific Review 