Evolution Ghazal
He has a front row ticket to her regression:
She hasn’t had a drink in six years.
Twice this week she threw her shoulders back
to speak frankly about the ways her weight affects her life.
His long distance empathy, almost as good as an embrace,
vodka-laden, dissolves what’s not supposed to be said.
An August Saturday morning, she admits to herself
what she wanted all along: hot desert winds to blow her North.
On her way home from the post office, she finds someone
to hitch her position to, extra letters—before or behind.
She’s told she’s the most approachable person.
What does it mean then, that she spends holidays alone?
Misspelled first name, never first choice,
Cecilia never initiates goodbye.
Cecilia Savala
Cecilia Savala (she/her) is a Shrek-obsessed Latinx poet, teacher, and mom who writes about gender, body image, generational trauma, and cultural detachment, 1200 miles from home. She is a morning person, a cat person, a creative writing teacher at ASU, and the Virginia G. Piper Fellow-in-Residence. Her work can be found in Acentos Review, the Boiler, and Poetry South, among others. Follow Cecilia at @cecsav on Instagram.