he said we are born
with more than what we die with.
firsts: an abundance
of unopened memories.
the first time you say
“thank you,” and your heart aches with
gratitude, not duty.
your first discovery
of one’s betrayal,
of your own fragility, the
lie, like an ember,
burnt its way through your
bloodstream. it settled in your
heart where it smolders still.
Like the first time your
eyes take in the vastness of
the sea – yet your mind
has yet to catch up to the
feeling.
you cannot have a
lifetime filled with
the ambiguity of
an unknown fondness.
discovery is for the young.
you are born with a
handful of firsts, like coins to
make wishes in a well.
and soon you forget
the feeling of newness.
he said we are born
with more than what we die with
and had he known I
was his last taste of newness,
he would have held his breath
forever.
***
The above is a poem motivated by the fleeting days of May, and tests, and uniforms, and desks. This poem began as a response to my final days of high school – a life filled with new beginnings. Whether it is making new friends or first days of class, I have spent the last 13 years of my life submerged in a sea of newness. Now that I am to reflect on both my past, here, and my future, university, and impending adulthood, I see that I have taken advantage of these firsts. We are conditioned to anticipate these things, rush our lives from one to the next, yet there will come a point, and I am not sure how close that point may be, where we will no longer find joy in rushing; instead, it will be that act of remembrance that fills our hearts with joy and longing. As I reach the climactic days of graduation, I look backward at a monumental schooling experience with warmth and nostalgia, but also grief and sadness – and to my future with anticipation, nervousness, and a more profound appreciation the beauty behind the newness of it all.