by Tori D’Amico
All I know is your crooked front tooth your granny smith eyes looking far away. I didn’t know then to commit your laughter to memory. The only night I had the privilege of holding you, I wish now I hadn’t slept and instead asked about your mother so I knew more than just your favorite animal. I am lying on my back. Look into an endless expanse of sky so empty I see the dust swimming on the surface of my eye. I’m glad you didn’t go too far you see the same rising lavender over a different mountain. I’d scratch a lotto ticket every day if it meant I had the money to be with you and do nothing else.
Tori D’Amico is a senior communications major with a concentration in journalism and a minor in creative writing. While her core studies were in news writing, her free time was constantly filled with poetry and prose. Most recently, she completed her honors thesis with a ten-poem collection titled “Everything was vermillion.” After graduation, Tori hopes to continue dedicating time to writing poetry and perhaps one day making it a full time career.