Things Physically Gone

Lizz Dawson

the bucket full of 48 sidewalk chalk nubs on the third shelf down in the garage
that pink scribble of our names and the water I used to wash it off
her black raccoon eyes
those size 32 jogger pants
his long-sleeved Metallica shirt that was my favorite thing to sleep in
all the hula-hoops that we stacked for obstacle courses every August
a bottle of 151 Rum, pineapple juice, and Malibu Coconut

the knife to cut the fruit up
my side view mirror
2 purple, furry dice that hung in between our cheeks against the front windshield
the Sharpie we wrote all over the back of my seats with
a blue balloon with blurry cursive letters that said “Miss You”
all those presents that you smashed
also that drywall that you punched through
the picture frame I made of us for Christmas
a razor blade with dried blood on it
my grey Ford Tempo, beat up and sold off
my second grade t-shirt with colorful cartoon bacteria on it that I never realized wasn’t cool
her naked picture that we tacked onto a tree in the woods
my best friend
her white plastic ring that I never took off, never once till it snapped
yesterday’s huge forehead pimple
my ex-boyfriend
my cousin
his mother’s sanity and contentment
the faint orange powdered lines on the mirror beside the warm gun
the sticky patch of Fentanyl dissolved on his tongue
this afternoon’s lunch
probably that shirt that my new best friend borrowed last month