by EVELYN SOTO
The boy who sat beside me in the second grade would whisper to me, in fleeting moments when
our teacher turned her back.
In your bathroom. At midnight.
Turn off the lights, stare into your reflection, chant, and,
a spirit will appear– she will take you.
Bleeding out, still, is the scar that we became at her hand.
It gushes the little I have left of my girlhood,
though I cannot remember how tall I stood then
and my chest rises and falls as if I cannot feel it– your addiction seething in my lungs.
The boy warned not
that she could gut the soul from a body that held me so close.
If he spoke the truth, his whispers would’ve rung:
In your bathroom. The hour that children lie their heads to rest.
Turn off the lights, stare into your reflection, chant, and,
a spirit will appear– she will intoxicate you.
The moment she leaves, her shadow will tighten around your wretching throat.
You will only be granted breath when she is before you– you will depend on her presence.
Then you will be taken.
Those excruciating days before you disappeared completely,
I always could catch your eyes darting to the mirror
over and, over and, over and,
You thought you could never have me,
that you’d never know what it meant to hold your own blood in your arms.
The moment she met you in the mirror, did the gate of that memory shut?
When she stood before you, your mouth agape and crying her name,
did you ever remember the pride of choosing your own daughter’s?
Tonight, you spend your final moment with me on a breath.
Before you blow out the candle upon my dresser,
only a blink could shelter my eyes from seeing yours darken,
the way they did when the candle’s tint flickered on our bunk bed.
After you left, he couldn’t bear to exist anywhere but beside me.
He lay there, soul limp, pleading for us to recite:
Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners.
As your communion with her grows further away, it grows easier
to crave a taste of her euphoric presence.
Now, and at the hour of our death,
her name will be heavy on mine and my sister’s tongues.
Writer | Evelyn Soto ‘28 | esoto28@amherst.edu
Editor | Siani Ammons ‘27 | sammons27@amherst.edu