Illustration by Jacqueline Subkhanberdina

you turned four during my finals week so i missed your party at a
trampoline park where i didn’t meet the preschool girlfriend who
you got in trouble for kissing last week. you speak in full sentences
now, something I worried would never happen. you could only say
no for so long i told your mom i was worried about your language,
but i didn’t know what i was talking about. you’re learning two
languages and i don’t think you know whether to ask for something
in Spanish, English, or Cry. Me too, i’m missing Spanish and only
Crying. with your newfound ability to speak you ask me why i live
in New York. i decided to leave just before you came out (of my
sister), not understanding how much of you i’d miss. you’re as old
as my decision. i want to tell you how much i miss you but you
don’t know what missing is it’s like when your mom takes your
iPad away at Sushi Heaven or when i turn off salsa sensory
vegetables on Youtube and you tell me you hate me but much, much
worse. on my floor i turn to the words capricious, cleavage,
temporality, and ubiquitous to sound smart enough to be here
instead of doing the work to be here. i couldn’t explain those words
to you if i tried and i haven’t figured out if they mean anything. no
is perfectly fine.

Isa Farfan (she/her) graduated in May 2024 and submitted this poem while she was studying Political Science and English at Barnard. She still lives in New York. You can find her on Twitter @isapizza60 and on Instagram @isaislearninghowtouseacamera.