Let this be a celebration of small loves,
one I shared with foster puppies,
and quiet bed and breakfasts I will never see again.
Friends met at bus stops while it was raining
and I didn’t bring an umbrella.
Small loves quick as lightning,
translucent as ghosts.
The way I remember a face I adored for a minute
only to wake up in the morning with a pang:
I never did learn his last name.
This is to small loves,
no burning houses, no orchestra.
Only love, small as my pinky.
I miss them all the same.
Theo Itchon is an emerging poet from the Philippines. They work as a creative writing teacher to the Filipino youth. They have been published in Katitikan, Anak Sastra, and Thimble Literary Magazine. Talk to them on Instagram: @theoitchon.
Eunoia Review 