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# My Favorite Part Was the Poetry
- URL: https://www.fsm.ink/my-favorite-part-was-the-poetry/
- Published: 2026-06-01T16:00:33.000Z
- Updated: 2026-06-03T17:36:22.000Z
- Author: Staff
- Tags: Poetry, #Import 2026-08-03 09:59

*by Sofia Ascorbe*

I hurriedly swing open the passenger door to your  
Dark green Toyota 4Runner, cars whipping past us  
In the rain  
  
You, always illegally pulled over on Wisconsin Avenue  
Bright eyes and toothy smile  
All of O’Hara’s kangaroos, sequins, and chocolate sodas  
As you proclaim that I’m going to love  
This playlist for the ride home  
A bright yellow post-it falls  
Out of my purse as I adjust the seat belt  
To be read when we whisper to each other in the dark, a holy ritual  
For now, it lies on your car floor, has a salad dressing stain on it  
Says: “lunch, amazing. New dressing: garlic. maple. Will make for us next week.”  
For now, we drive off and sing at the top of our lungs  
  
Come, reach your hand down the bottom of my purse  
Feel for the crumpled little paper edges littered across its body  
Unfold each poem from an ordinary life  
  
“Challenge accepted: I only spent $22 on groceries today.”  
“Deportation proceedings and (no) due process?! Must discuss.”  
“Our song on the radio! 88.9 on my way to work. p.s. This is a sign we need to watch True Stories again.”  
“You’re going to kill it tonight--you can and you will.”  
“We can and we will--I love it. Let’s use that more often.”  
“Done. We’ll use it more often, together.”  
“And for the record, I’m madly in love with you.”  
“I miss you. Sorry. And thank you.”  
“And thank you.”  
  
Oh, my love  
To recall every grace extended to each other  
Over the years would be a Sisyphean task  
For now, it is enough that Mary Oliver’s thank yous  
should appear somewhere

It is quiet now, except for the gentle drizzle  
Of leftover rain as it rolls down our window  
Taps onto the sill  
I match my voice to its low volume  
  
As I read Neruda’s love sonnet to you  
Once in English  
And then again, slower, in his native tongue  
The way you like  
*…como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras*  
The words richer, taking shape now in the dark  
As I slow down my pace and go deep  
Roll my tongue through each letter  
Careful to glide over and through and in between  
Each soft edge and delicate curve  
The sound sweet, thick like  
Caramel absorbed into a rum cake  
Carefully drips out into  
The sponge, seizes then expands again  
Adjusts to its new volume  
Some drips down the side still  
My tongue always eager to catch  
  
And in this moment  
I’d abandon every power structure  
To continue this sacred practice of  
Reading poetry to you  
  
A robin mumbles with laughter outside  
Your head turns to follow the sound  
Look at how ordinary we are  
Our lives are not shaped by perfect words  
But built brick by mud-stained brick  
By hands unsteady and felt  
  
Night falls, and you know that I am leaving you  
The poem ends  
You ask me to hold you  
  
I reach over and gently cup the side of your face  
My hand trembles but then I remember  
The dressing-stained post-it  
And Joyce’s words flow through me and  
Yes I said yes I will yes

> Sofia Ascorbe grew up in many places and cultures due to her Latine-military upbringing. She was born under the warm Georgia sun, fell asleep to the same lullaby of Puerto Rican coquí frogs that her dad did, recited her ABCs in the suburbs of Washington D.C., and largely grew up chasing the best croquetas de jamon in Miami, Florida in between visits to her mom’s family in Panama. Proudly Wisconsin educated, she has since fallen in love with the state, her chosen and loving home for more than a decade. She has a legal background in advocating for human rights and housing justice, and is an avid dancer, trekker, and storyteller.