FebulousFebruary 2026: The Old Photograph

this past third of May

was not just Grandma’s 94th 

birthday, nor simply two days

after my 32nd – it was also

the 2nd birthday Laura missed

because she is dead –

She and I were never able

to celebrate the proximity

of our births, save in

loose plans and longing smiles –

we were for a time

coworkers in an independent

bookstore – a collected roof

for wayward dreamers – I

was a recent college grad

with grand ambition and a

blind dream –

to write and to have 

a relationship with a woman,

with Laura –

she was the dyke

of my dreams – not just

as a romantic companion

but for bravely embodying 

that which I couldn’t, 

the self i was

too afraid to breathe life into –

days before she died

she liked one of my

instagram posts – 

a barbed wire fence 

Under the enormous

south downs sky –

I remember being pleased 

that Laura and I were in touch –

despite the years

and thousands of miles –

that she approved 

of my lens on life, 

if only digitally –

days after she died

I reread the blog she kept 

the year we left Providence –

I flew to London while –

she drove from RI West

across the US – 

a journey I desire 

to make but have 

never taken –

scrolling through her 

words provided comfort 

and melancholy, like

a goodbye fuck – 

love and loss – present

and pluperfect –

in many ways, I now

resemble the Laura I remember –

dark brown and bleached blonde hair, 

coffee-stained eyes 

curly kohl armpits 

a tattoo sleeve around

a beloved woman –

I hate using the conditional

tense with you, Laura – Mulley –

but you know you will live

on in me, as long as I draw breath –

Rachel Smith, London