bookmark
I thought my father left a bookmark for me,
Slotted in the pages of a poetry book.
One I had yet to read, but would soon love.
Glancing at the page, I noticed the poem was titled “The Addict.”
A characteristic we could both relate to.
Foolish ideas formed in my head.
Maybe he put it there to reach out to me,
Using the hand I had not cut off.
Maybe he knew I would highlight the title,
Read every line with a knowledge beyond most,
Or maybe he just liked the poem too.
I refused to remove the bookmark,
As I read through the book.
Slowly, methodically, as if this marker meant nothing.
Until I finally reached the page and realized,
The bookmark was my own.
aidan aultman
Aidan Aultman is a poet who works to unearth the unvoiced aspects of human emotion and experience. In doing so, she hopes to comfort those who feel too much shame or grief to express it themselves. She is currently working on her Library and Information Science degree and has plans to become a librarian.