I could restore to a past point
like when I installed version 10.0
and everything after that would be gone.
I wouldn’t get my money back
for the karaoke app or the $5.99
to have my Piscean fortune told,
but at least there’d be no evidence
on my home screen, you and I
as the background would vanish
into the core of the Apple void.
My music would set back to what it was
before I got on the plane in April,
after that weekend with you, when I bought
that Lord Huron song you loved
and listened to it on repeat for two hours.
I wouldn’t have to have my password be your birthday
anymore, or maybe even have one at all,
I could set the language to French or Japanese
or something else that you don’t speak, that I don’t understand
just to not have English in common with you.
I wouldn’t be able to deep touch the gratuitous selfie
of us kissing at the Christkindlmarket
right after that man called us “love birds.”
Jessica Frank is a 2018 graduate of the McNeese State University MFA program. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Crab Orchard Review, Ninth Letter (online), Portage Magazine, Up North Lit, and several other publications. She was a 2018 nominee for Best of the Net and a two-time winner of the John Wood Poetry Prize. “My identity as a woman is important because I have a daughter who is looking to me to be the example of bad-assery. And it’s important because I have a mother and had grandmothers that couldn’t have dreamed of the life I currently lead. I have a voice.”