Someone once told me
every seven years, our cells turnover –
tendons, organs, skin, blood.
Inaccurate, to be sure, but therein lies some truth.
We are cellular phoenixes, every one of us.
I met you eight years ago,
Befriended you seven years, nine months ago.
Fell for you seven years, five months ago.
Became yours exactly seven years ago.
So now I wonder:
Are any parts of me left that once touched you?
Does your skin still remember my skin?
Or are my lips as foreign to yours
as ash is to wings?
Emily Young was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, holds a master’s degree, and works as a full time health care provider. She is a member of the Redmond Association of Spoken Poetry and Prose, a loving wife, and a proud dog mom.