Written by Jacob Ibrag
Dwindling by the numbers, yet we pray for signs.
Looking around. Scouring for the light. Praying for a
hole in the sky. The bones of the lost rain through the hole
to remind the eye. From the past to the now, linked through
the fog of time. Deja vu washes over the leftovers. I remember
now. It was a Monday. Twenty years ago. I was crying because
some kid stole my left shoe. I wanted to crawl in a shell and
expire. A foreign shadow appeared before me. Ice cream
man. ‘It’s a cassette tape, on constant rewind. Life.’ I’ve
been here before. So have you. These
bones used to be mine.
Image by Alex Cherry