Mary Ellen
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
Brown hair wrapped around my finger
You had brown hair too, didn’t you?
I saw it, fossilized on my father’s bedside table
In a wooden picture frame, four out of seven subjects still here
My fingers brushed your Q-tip hair
“I’m talking to my friend” you once said
Oh Mary Ellen, we were not friends
I wasn’t there on you wedding day
I never gathered tomatoes in my dress with you as hail rained down
I didn’t hold your hand as you fertilized your garden with your twins
I don’t know what your potato water cinnamon rolls taste like
You were half gone by the time I cared to know you
You were Benjamin Buttoning before my eyes
Mary Ellen, we were not friends
I’m bone of your bone, flesh of your flesh
The oldest daughter of your youngest son
I have your brown hair
Your painting is shrouded behind sweaters in my closet
Your Bible, your rosary both buried in my bookshelf
I’m trying to finish that rug you started
How long before I’m the only one who remembers you, Mary Ellen?
Who cares to?
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About the Author
Hannah Otto is a 24 year old Blackjack Dealer living in North Dakota. She began creative writing in middle school after feeling alienated in academic spaces due to her learning disability. Writing quickly transformed into a cathartic exercise where she juxtaposes various parts of her identity with one another aiming to find understanding in herself and the world around her. She is currently an emerging poet.