018751 this was the lunch code I was given
My first day of third grade
My teacher wrote on my hand
With a green marker that smelled like berries
018751 this was the passcode for my first email
That my best friend made for me
Because that was the only set of numbers I could remember
For even though it was no longer written on my hand
It was still written in my brain
Etched
Each number
0
1
8
7
5
1
[This is a reposted edited version of a previous poem of mine.]
when all we have is spent–
what will we have left?
people once before us–
i walked down the street
the streets i once used to know
filled with regrets and heavy with burdens
of what once happened here
i walked down the street
a block or so down
I believe in god even though I may know he doesn’t exist
I know the mountains were not formed by him
Instead it is the science in the world
The reason we are here in this moment
Comments
I still use a variation of my high school ID card number as a password to this day (I'm 31)! Interesting to think about the ways in which we develop attachments and add meaning to such inconsequential things sometimes.
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