Goodbye was like later, loser,
don’t let college kill you,
and then college killed you.
Or the alcohol did.
Or the car ride, wasted—I know
you were smarter than that.
But you fucked up, you were twenty-two,
can’t really blame you.
It’s weird to think I’m almost
older than my oldest friend.
And maybe it’s the period blood
dripping between my thighs
like your blood all over that oak
tree in the Baptist church’s dismal
lot, but I feel you here right now,
smiling over my shoulder, laughing
because you know it was your bad
but if we don’t tell your mom
it’ll be okay; we’ll go to Disney
and eat ice cream shaped like Mickey’s
head and it’ll be okay.
Emily Miller is a recent graduate of Saint Leo University in St. Leo, Florida, where she received her BA in English with a specialization in creative writing. Her work has been published in Inklette Magazine, The Dandelion Review, Sandhill Review's 2017, 2018, 2019, and 2020 issues, and is forthcoming in Red Cedar Review and The Dollhouse Magazine. When not writing she can be found cuddling with her five cats and devouring frozen pizza. Connect with her on Instagram @actualprincessemily, or view her portfolio on emilyrosemiller.weebly.com.