Object Permanence


Manchester High School
United States

I’ve been living on this island for as long as I can remember.

My arms span out like anchor, untethered

My body this boat to swing across the sandy sea.

He, a prophecy, projected in the miles of spillage

Ruinage, oil staining my beautiful sandy beaches,

A taste of sunlight for the furthest reaches,

Even for the fish with the scales painted black

I may be alone, but I can scrub them clean before I throw them back.

My hair catches winds that unfurl my sails, 

I am a traveler.

I’m not really a poet, I’m just trying to find my way

Learn about myself more through every hour, every day.

And I don’t have to rhyme, at least not all the time,

And even if I did it’s not like anyone would be here to listen

As my fingers are only means to point to the stars glisten

-ing even on the darkest of nights, when I hear a voice calling to me,.

Beckoning, plastic slides and yellow beetles,

Yellow boots and skinned knees that bleed all 

Over the lawn as dogs bark from the yard over,

Asking if I was alright, challenging each clover.

These flashes of memories blur before my eyes,

Gone before I can realize, just what I’ve come to lose.

Memories are like a pounding bruise, but my mind stays just the same.

The most powerful gift someone can have is one’s brain

And if there is one thing a brain learns first,

It’s about object permanence, how existence works.

But I can only count myself lucky because I still remember what bothers me most,

Like arms that restrict and things that smell gross, 

I can’t name them all but even the way my arms felt a little too small.

But the good thing about memory- the good thing about it,

Is that you can look at every situation, get some perspective and sit.

I fend for myself on a this island, so my arms have grown despite bile and,

I can speak in rhymes in between the lines or sometimes just not at all.

But it weren’t for my mind, my memories I have locked inside,

I wouldn’t have anything to criticize or even compare.

There’d just be me and the lonely, me and my strong hands.

Picking myself up and scrubbing my beautiful beach sands.

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