by Michelle Ortega

A phantom shape shifts at my feet 
as the evening sun drops below 
the treeline; from where I stand
impossible to see the whole sky 

glorious hues interrupted 
by house and line and branch;
impossible to recall each detail
of the scenes we acted, reenacted

so instead I tango with primacy
and recency, from first sight
and the brush of our hands
as we reach for the same

anything, to the echo of last 
words, not a slammed door
but the drift of diminishing song, 
and all that happens in between,

memory’s preference, what I choose 
to carry ahead, what blusters far 
from me on its way back to the earth––
hubris is humble, creates 

sustenance from decay; not far
away a field glimmers crimson and
golden, a last look over my shoulder
before I saunter into twilight. 

Michelle Ortega has been published at Tweetspeak Poetry, Tiferet Journal, Platform Review, Shot Glass Journal, Rust + Moth, Humana Obscura, Stillwater Review and elsewhere online and in print. When you Ask Me,”Why Paris” (chapbook, Finishing Line Press) is forthcoming July 2025. She serves on the Board of Directors at Arts By The People where she helps create and facilitate workshops for The Writing Lab, including the annual Ekphrastic Residency. michelleortegawrites.com