The persistence of memory

Legacy.

On my notebook, nestled in the corner
among glued-on stars, are the words
second law of thermodynamics.

It means, literally, that entropy always increases.
It implies that one day, the very last star will run out of
nuclear fuel and everything, anything,
will cease to exist.

I chose to have those words there as a
reminder of my impermanence,
that simple scientific law
turns the pages back to sun-drinking trees in my hands, my
hands back to dust.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t need a legacy.

I don’t need my name up in lights.
But I would like it in the wind and seasalt and dandelions, so
burn me when I die.

I don’t need my name to go down in history.
the infinity before and the infinity after anyone said it
will all be the same to me.

Legacy.
What a distracting concept.

Don’t ever let me live my present for some else’s
future.

Icestorm

VT

19 years old

More by Icestorm

  • Generation Broken Mirror

    how do we cope with       seven years of bad luck,
    sweating summer away, treating youth
    like bittersweet apricot, unripe/or rotting,
    when winter brings
    our future’s eroded footprints
  • Prayer of Inheritance

    dear God, this is a hymn; I sing it with my throat still fresh. dear God, this is a prayer; I recite it
    with my head bowed and the arrow nocked. irony coalesces in the strangest
  • Erasure

    i. dremel uvula
    we are girls. to hope is to expect. to revert back
    to sticky hands, to beg between tantrum sobs
    for lullabies. we are girls, we polish
    our sentiments (with sandpaper tongues)
    down to shining minimums