Poetry: Documented Arrival

A Polaroid of forgotten memory sits
on a shelf above my bed. I think
I was five, or maybe four, what’s
most apparent is I am bored.

I am sporting a red shirt and a
checkered vest. Someone else
dressed me. I can only wonder why.

A sheepish grin marks my pale face.
I look irked under my skin, perhaps
thinking, I really don’t like this,
or, get me out of this place.

I look almost alone in this picture,
although I am with five others. An
arm is wrapped around me; It
could only be my mother’s.

I march up from my face to hers.
It looks strange to me, distorted
by too wide a smile, it says she’s
trying too hard on a day full of trials.

There’s someone else in this photo,
She goes by Insecurity. She has me slouched
over while everyone sits up straight.

She requested to stay with me a while,
and I obliged. I asked her to leave
when the cameraman arrived,
but it was much too late.


Let me know what you think

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s