Trash Bag BurialA Poem by Trish HopkinsonWhen I was younger I collected odd things to remind me of moments"snapshots of friends, napkins with signatures and doodles, pieces of ribbon, Roland Orzabal’s comb, dried flowers hung upside down by a pushpin, newspaper clippings, mini bottles, candy wrappers, concert ticket stubs, restaurant receipts"mementos that littered the shelves and wall above my Curtis Mathes rent-to-own stereo. I spent many hours mooning the past, the moments that seemed pivotal to existence, the items that made me. Just a blip on the timeline later, what made me became dust collectors, muddied up the little space I had, complicated what I’d become. I didn’t think much of it, as I shook the folded trash bag, rushing it with air to create an opening for their burial. I pulled them roughly, tore from beneath pins, raked from shelves, and turned my head as the dust flew and the bag dropped heavy. I paused as I held the comb. It still smelled foolish, like ‘80’s hair mousse. © 2014 Trish Hopkinson |
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Added on November 8, 2014 Last Updated on November 8, 2014 AuthorTrish HopkinsonUTAboutI like to share interesting writing tips, articles, calls for submissions (no fee only!), and other info to help promote writing and poetry in general. I have always loved words–in fact, my moth.. more..Writing
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