project 2

finger puppet

i was 8 or so,
visiting my father in alberta.
in a museum, i saw you.
little van gogh.
i had never
wanted anything
this much before.
i begged my father but his refusal made it clear it was not meant to be.

months later, i received you in the mail unexpectedly.
i guess he changed his mind.
i was in awe.

i admired you
as i kept you on my shelf for display.
barely touched
but still adored to its fullest extent.
things were so simple back then.

years had passed.
i found you in a shoebox,
along with other unmemorable junk.
no emotion.
no wonder.
no meaning.
a thing that was once so treasured,
now forgotten,
now abandonned.

as i pull your pieces apart,
i chuckle.
why you were so special?
you are deformed and
your insides are everywhere.
some sort of octopus.
now, your meaning?
it is the lack of it

____________________

____________________

_________________________

not meant to be

he changed his mind

for display

no emotion

simple back then

in a shoebox

your pieces apart

unmemorable junk

you are deformed

now abandoned