Caitlin Upshall
An Ode to Lost Girls
I want to write a poem for the girls who were never found. Who remain unnamed on 20/20
specials and live in the asterisks of Wikipedia pages. Who accepted a ride home and talked to
a stranger and went to a party or who took the long way home and spent time with friends
they trusted and never missed a family event. I want to take Megan’s law and give it a new
name every day until there are no names left, in lieu of flowers and in memory of empty
caskets.
For every documentary on a man called monster, we will plant a flower until a forest grows.
We will pick a day as anniversary and dig up plants under a bright sky, unearth roots that
have never touched a body. That is to say; I want to write a poem for the forests that cover
forgotten girls like blankets, like they’re still at home, like they were never taken, like they
will still be called by name tomorrow.
Coffee order on a Sunday morning
Salted caramel macchiato with skim milk, always iced
because you stay skinnier that way. A lid fastened
tight like your lips, curved into one of five approved
expressions. You try feigning vulnerability without
smudging your lipstick.
“No pastry, thank you.” The sermon is on forgiveness
and you start the morning annoyed that you can taste coffee
in your drink. Ground beans are not ground enough,
the caramel sauce is stuck beneath ice.
You can’t see the congregation when the music
starts. The spotlight blinds you like God’s love with
a click track. Your face is on four enormous screens, acne
and freckles buried beneath heavy concealer.
“We are not a megachurch,” the pastor says,
“because we are more personal. More real.”
“No straw.” You adjust your bible, careful to carry it with the
cover facing out. After the service, a woman you do not know
tells you to wear longer dresses so you do not distract her
husband while he worships. You write down notes for the
next spontaneous prayer and brush your hair in a toilet stall.
“No, no straw,” you say again. “I brought my own.” Can you tell
I’m better than most other people? Can you tell me that I’m enough?
Caitlin Upshall (she/her/hers) holds a B.A. in English from Western Washington University and is currently based in the United Kingdom. When she's not writing, she enjoys most things dinosaur-related and trivia nights. You can find her on Instagram at @CaitlinUpshall or at www.caitlinupshall.com.
