High School Poetry Winner from the 2010 issue
~(Imitation of “Handful of Fog”)
I recall the rough ridges on the ragged green couch.
The soft moaning of the old wooden floorboards.
The warm air thick with the smell of freshly mown grass.
The blinding white of the morning sunlight.
The paint peeling off the aged rafters.
The splattering of stars littering the open night sky.
shards once fit together, willingly.
I strive to keep hold of this immaculate memory.
Yet the details seem to melt, becoming indistinct.
I attempt to cup this swirling liquid in my hands.
However, time manages to create cracks between my fingers—
Allowing sights and sounds to slip away.
Pictures exist, but memories provide sound, smell, and movement.
You don’t pose for memories.
Still, one stubborn image refuses to cooperate.
I let it remain, like a firefly in a jam jar— bright.
An ordinary afternoon spent swinging
Off the arm of an old oak.
This enjoyment, I realize
Is simply a fragment.
Its sharp edges a constant reminder
Of the value I possess.