I'll Keep an Open Mind If You Let Me In

… And then I suppose we’ll continue to get older and older.


But as a long time lover of the birds and the sky and a clock of a relative I never knew who speaks of time immemorial, I could wonder less about time.

I used to hold onto tiny make believe shoes I wore at young ages and chase my shadow down a street. And sometimes I’d see outlines of my fingers in sidewalk chalk, barely there.

It was all ghosts. I was so fascinated by phantoms I’d invite them into the house and let them occupy various corners of childhood and the scary gaps between whatever comes after the day you wonder what happened.

Once a kind soul who I talk with very infrequently now that I lost his address through willful stupidity asked me why I cried when my plates were disturbed and old pictures were left out noticeably. I answered I wished little to look at myself. He told me something I have carried with me like I once held onto lollipops in the back pocket of jumpers stained with grass when falling was a temporary setback.

if your silhouette pains you
then why do you cling to its mementos?

you are not a child anymore

the scrapes and the blood have become real

but I would rather bear a skin flecked in vestiges
of my prime
than forever search for a stuck clock that will

freeze the phantoms in place and maintain the bone structure you keep.

I would rather the unknown than dust and what was once but will never be even if…

Sorta meh on it. Whatever. Writing is fun, and that is all the matters. Even if I suck at it.