Poems by Olivia Warrick

I’m glad we spoke.
Yes. So am I.
You’re an incredible girl.
Yes, I’m aware.
But a woman, not a girl.
A girl lacks the chasms
of loss carved into her landscape.
A girl doesn’t live
with a patchwork quilt
sewn from the beautiful scraps
that loved ones left behind.
A girl feels freely: grief, love, passion, loss, longing.
A woman folds these neatly,
puts them in her lockbox.
I’ll deal with that later, she says,
first, let’s find that other shoe.
Come, we’ll do it together.
But she firmly knows where
she buried the key.
Yes. I’m glad we spoke.