My Childhood: An Ars Poetica

Brianna Le / V Mag at UVA

We are meant to dance in the mud, naked 

and light all the matches in a green match book and not use a single one.

We are meant to plumb ourselves to the floor and the page

wake with our backs against the wall and walk across the ceiling

leaving footprints 

to a place existing

long before real executive function and all the bullshit that comes with owning a watch. 

You will look back on this and think 

it’s over isn’t it?

Play with it until it’s worn through, a blankie sewn and sown and holy.   

Howl at something fragile like the brick wall out back or your father.

He’ll give you so many odd planks, poplar and two types of pine, and walnut 

and help you bring them together with a biscuit joiner carving out the perfect groove

in the spine of them to bury every round word.