darkness dusting my face like snow

 it wasn’t what i expected. you aren’t what i remembered. it never used to be so dark, only red blips from the fire alarm. you wrote a list of likes. merlot, running against the wind, big dogs, words that eat people, gold rings— see. i remember things. the couch had been rained on. i slipped off twice. sat in a puddle on the floor. felt my socks welcome the water. i asked twelve questions. you closed your eyes. it had been years since i ghosted through the hallway, but there it was. the same long kitchen. an empty stainless-steel bench. a new bed in the spare room that used to be empty. i wondered who the sheets were for. wondered if they left any traces behind. wind pushed through the shut windows. a dead plant coughed. i think about you every day. images of you between your bookshelves remembering me. sometimes. i didn’t know what i was looking at. location on your phone was deactivated and google maps couldn’t guess. my hands concrete on your chest. darkness dusting my face like snow.

Rhegan Tu'akoi is a Tongan and Pākehā writer living in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. Her family hail from the grassy plains of South Canterbury, and the beautiful village of Holonga, Tongatapu. She has recently had words in Poetry New Zealand Yearbook and The Pantograph Punch.