Golden Shovel of “Second Date” by Kaylee Young-Eun Jeong
I don’t remember much about the summer I went to Greece, but
I still feel the heat that the early-June sea carried into the land. It’s
the same type of heat I experienced days later, that Friday
in your car. I don’t remember much from Greece, except the im-
perical ruins, pillars weathered by hands we weren’t allowed
to touch. The same way you aren’t supposed to toss a coin into
every fountain you see & make a wish for happiness, or money, or love,
something a girl like me would want. This was when you
were still a stranger to me, & whether it was a blessing or a curse, I’m
still uncertain. / I’m sorry, I know I’m allowed to move on. I know I’m allowed
to forget about you like I forget all the trivia answers to
Geography facts. But I swear, I’m trying to be honest, and the truth is I want to scream
to the oceans about how I still can’t forget. I don’t know that much about
Greece, but I know that colosseums were formed by memories. Even this
poem was built on grief. When I sat down on the benches, I glid my hand
over the marble & decided to hold onto the confession in
my tongue: I don’t regret going to Greece, or you, only my
-self when I never jumped into the sea because I couldn’t let go of your hand.
Saturn Browne (she/they) is a writer from New England. Her work appears in SoFloPoJo, Gone Lawn, Eunoia Review, and more. Saturn was a 2023 Adroit Journal mentee in poetry, as well as an alumna of Kenyon Review and Ellipsis Workshops, where she studied under Noah Falck and Shangyang Fang. She has been recognized by The Pulitzer Center, Smith College, Hollins University, and CT River Review amongst others. The 2023 youth poet laureate of Connecticut, their debut chapbook, BLOODPATHS, was published in April with Kith Books. Saturn loves art galleries, the ocean, and A24 films. Find her https://saturnbrowne.carrd.co/
Original Art by Dilara Sümbül
