“Sixteen” By Evelyn Alsup

Photo by Pratik Gupta on Unsplash

I think I must be getting old 

because now here is this person who does not belong to me. 

That is not my perfume,

that is not my sweater. 

Those are not my brown boots,

the ones with the wooden heels.

This person does not belong to me.

Those are her tears. 

That is her soda can,

crushed in the corner of my room. 

She knows me, I think.

This person who does not belong to me. 

I know her, I think, 

in her pale blue sweater.

Walking alone down Congress.

Down Thomas. 

Down Preble. 

Down Vaughan.

Evelyn Alsup was born in Miami Beach, Florida, but moved to Portland, Maine, when she was thirteen. Evelyn loves reading, writing, and listening to music in her spare time. Evelyn especially enjoys and admires the work of Sylvia Plath, Lucie Brock Broido, and William Butler Yeats.