Lip Gloss, Probably by Crys Wiltshire

By July, everything beautiful

had started sticking to me.

Peach juice at the corner of my mouth.

Drugstore lip gloss in my hair.

The plastic straw of a root beer,

stained pink, while I pretended not to look.

She wore a crop top with thin straps,

bright yellow with a smiley face—

The one we’d call an emoji years later.

She laughed with her whole mouth

at something I could not hear.

I told myself I just liked her confidence.

The way she held a cigarette,

and convinced us to take her mom’s car for a joy ride.

Her long dark hair blowing toward me in the back seat.

She made me feel reckless.

Untamed. She did not apologize,

for taking up heat, or space.

For wanting.

By August, I had learned

some things do not evaporate.

They leave a shine. A film.

I told myself I just wanted her life.

Her freedom.

I almost believed it.

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Crys Wiltshire is a Canadian poet and author based in Penetanguishene, Ontario. Her work explores past trauma, survival, healing, nature, and social causes. She writes both personal and nature-based poetry, often using the natural world as a place for reflection and healing. She was a finalist in the Canada Is Our Poem contest and is featured in the 2025 Canada Is Our Poem anthology. Her short fiction has appeared in Blank Spaces, an Ontario-based literary magazine. She also writes about feminism, literature, and women’s creative lives on Substack. She lives on the shores of Georgian Bay with her family, where landscapes continue to inspire her work.

@cryswiltshirepoetry