By EMILY WYKOFF
All I have left are the things you said
That’s it, nothing tangible
No one would ever know you were here
In my too-small-to-be-a-single dorm
I can still hear your voice
Your soft, “good morning”
As light broke through the window
And I woke up with your arms around me
I can still hear your praises
How you wanted me to feel pretty
Your words made me look in the mirror
And smile
I can still hear your farewell
As you helped me carry my luggage across campus
While my wrist was still busted
And you hugged me goodbye
Here I can almost feel you
The cold shell of your coat
As you pressed yourself into my arms
Before leaving me in the cold
My hair was wet, you know
And I cried to my mom on the phone
As I waited for the shuttle
I cried on the plane, too
It’s not your fault
But it was the break in your voice as you said, “goodbye”
That started my tears
They froze against my cheeks
Still, I know you have something
My poems
Folded into tight squares and pressed into your hands
You have me, draped in verse
I wish you had left me with something
With more than just your intangible words
More than just the memory of your touch
And the ghost of the tears on my cheek
Writer | Emily Wykoff ’26 | ewykoff26@amherst.edu
Editor | Kevin Roodnaugh ’26 | kroodnaugh26@amherst.edu