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.

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