To Leigh Chadwick by Adrienne Marie Barrios

I wonder if your sunburned shoulders are peeling, too. I wonder if mosquito bites cluster your ankles along the low edges of your husband’s socks that you wear when you run out of pairs. I wonder if when you can’t sleep and you stare at the ceiling fan that can’t cool you down because it’s still 89 degrees outside you think about how you changed my life. I wonder if you ever feel anxious when you think about disappearing. I wonder if you disappeared or if you disappeared. I wonder what your daughter’s laugh feels like—cold milk after too many cookies—no, honeycomb, full of potential. I wonder if you miss me, or if you remember me at all.

Adrienne Marie Barrios lives in a vacuum with Margot, Phoebe, Mister, Bug, The Baby, Christine, Dale, a bunch of shrimp named John, and her husband, Chris. Occasionally she writes.