she unsees the ocean, chlorine and crystals
she unweaves the rainbows she watched,
unwrites the diary entries, worth sixteen years,
her story now forever lost in the endless sky.

past the summer smog burning in cast-iron forests
where memory-ghosts walk away among the dying trees,
she unremembers the beautiful ruin of broken promises

hanging onto the edge of sands, where white and blue mingle,
she unhears their laughter, unhears the words that felt too sharp
unaccepts the flowering friendships that bloomed so coldly

but the pain is still there.
among the sweet summer ocean
she falls right through,
dark subtext, pale silhouette.

even the clearest waters
can still turn melancholy red,
a color never to be reversed.

the sun sets and blood red fills the sky.
when will people finally understand
there’s no un- for gone?

Teresa Zhang