Ivy Beam


Note From An Afghan (Hiding Out In The Americas) - Poem by Ivy Beam

I don’t quite know what to think anymore.
I passed some words scrawled on the wall today
That said, “The more you know, the more you
Know you don’t know shit.”
“Coarse.” A fictional redhead called Tilda would
Say. The words were written in pencil, as if they
Could be erased anytime, as if this simple, temporary
Truth would be gone like today’s sun.
“Hahahah.” I laughed to myself. I felt arrogant, thinking
That I’ve known the words on the wall for a long time now.

I’m eating the ginger chews we used to eat. Except they’re
A different flavor and in a burgundy bag this time.
Guess that’s kind of symbolic. The old memories.
Your old life will always be there… but perhaps in a different
Form.
Well what if I don’t want it in a different form, goddamnit? !
I just want my old green bag of ginger chews, I want my old
Memories and sensations to be my experiences right now.
Nostalgia! Don’t accuse me of that.
I just express an appreciation for all things past. The past is primary
way you can really define your life anyhow.
When a person asks you about you or your life, do you tell them
What you’re thinking at that very second or what you’re doing at
That very second?
I don’t know baby, I don’t know. The past is pretty important to me.
Let’s pay homage to it.
Like a religion where our former selves are the Gods.
Give praise and thanks to all the good we have done and grimace and fear
At All of the bad we have done.
It has all been constructed, fully and intricately, down to our toenails.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 27, 2009



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