The search for the writing of my first quarter century has begun in an undeniably lazy method. In other words, I asked my parents to look in their storage.
Thus far, only a single High School poem has been found. It was seriously pretentious drivel. A prodigy was not revealed by this past find.
I’m not exactly embarrassed. After all, I was an emotional, awkward, closeted, and confused wreck of a 16-year old. To be honest, I’m a bit ashamed that it was actually published far more than the fact that I wrote such nonsense.
As soon as I saw the cover, I had a strong visual memory of the magazine. Even before I found my name in the by line, I knew I would see it on a left-hand page. I was certain that when I found the poem, that it would be placed on the right side of that page. I knew the line flow would be uneven and end just about halfway down. As I flipped through the pages, I also recalled that there would be a drawing in the bottom left hand corner.
All those memories, and yet I had no recollection of the poem itself. Perhaps my visual perception is stronger than my capacity to retain words. More likely, it is that the words truly were not worth space in my brain.
I would like to ask my 82-year old self if she feels about this 2019 project the way I feel now about that 1986 poem. I hope not.
Only time will tell.
340 Days to go.