BY LAUREN SAXON
22
after Fatima Asghar’s Partition
I am 22 & have not been hugged in a long time.
I am considering the English language—
how it gave us both the word hug & the word embrace.
do not mistake them for one.
I love her. I love her.
I will always be this way.
my mother, I fear, will not attend my wedding.
my father is selling the house—
it was to be kept for legitimate grandchildren only.
I am no stranger to my parent’s arms.
I still call my father’s cologne, home.
I am proud to have my mother’s smile.
still
my parents hug
only the parts of me that they can embrace.
I am certain my body would feel differently.
I am 22 & have not been hugged in a long time.
I watch my parents greet me from a distance.
it is clear that they have missed me.
when my mother wraps her arms around me,
I cannot feel them.
I am standing behind myself,
keeping two white gowns from touching the ground.
when my father wraps his arms around me,
he does so on borrowed land.
it is possible to be hugged & not embraced.
the proof is right here in my breath.
I will always be this way.
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Lauren Saxon is a 22 year old poet and mechanical engineer from Cincinnati Ohio. She attends Vanderbilt University, and relies on poetry when elections, church shootings, and police brutality leaves her speechless. Lauren's work is featured or forthcoming in Flypaper Magazine, Empty Mirror, Homology Lit, Nimrod International Journal and more. She is on staff at Gigantic Sequins, Assistant Editor of Glass: A Journal of Poetry and spends way too much time on twitter (@Lsax_235).