V Batyko

For You, Without Me

Through the mirror, I watch you
speak to a friend. Pretend

I’m not paying attention. Your hair
which I cut and shaped last week

is growing, falling back
into its natural tendencies.

You struggle to find
the perfect word, blinking lots

like a horse batting off flies. I know
the word you want to say, but choose

not to tell, knowing
the dent my voice would make.

You pour another pot of tea.
There’s not much time

until it’s fully steeped, until you fill
my cup, catch me—You stop, turn

to watch a hummingbird sip
at the feeder, beak long as hair.

She will never know you: you
who concocts her nectar, who

watches her swill it up daily,
who calls her greedy tenderly.

You want to snap a picture of her,
but as soon as you take out your phone

she flies away.

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V. Batyko is a poet from Los Angeles, California. They hold an MFA in poetry from the University of Washington. They are the recipient of the Joan Grayston Poetry Prize from the University of Washington and the Beau J Boudreaux Poetry Award from the University of Southern California. Their work has recently been published in Ninth Letter and The Journal, and they were a finalist for Columbia Journal's 2019 Winter Contest.