The New Clean

by Jon Sands

I was telling the truth. I miss the way your neck wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in. I remember when you said being with me is like being alone with company. My friend Sarah wrote a poem about pink ponies. I’m scared you’re my pink pony. Hers is dead. It is really sad. You’re not dead. You live in Ohio, or Washington, or wherever. You are a shadow my body leaves on other girls. I have a growing queue of things I know

will make you laugh and I don’t know where to put them. I mourn like you’re dead. If you had asked me to stay, I would not have said No. It would never mean Yes.