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What’s a thing that disappears

The more it creates,

And the more it destroys—

 

It was born buried

And born beneath sun—

 

It creates memories in minds

That never touched it,

 

And lets dead men live forever?

 

*

Author's Note: In a class about riddles, poetry, and science fiction, I wrote this poem.  When writing this poem/riddle, I wanted to describe a commonplace object as if I'd just learned what it was (without knowing its name).  It was a lot of fun to write, and it was interesting to try to capture the essence of an object.  I hope you all have a great time figuring it out.



Damien is a queer student and poet.  His notebooks have haiku and sketches scrawled in the margins.  He’s known for finding “cursed” photos and documents; or, more accurately, they find him.  Sometimes in the middle of the night.  He lives with his boyfriend, his cat, and ten thousand fish.
Current Issue
15 Aug 2022

You turned and Hailé was hunched by the counter, holding the Rift in his bare stomach together with his hands.
Their eyes trace the curves of our gears / like birds eyeing the shoreline and we / recite the songs our makers wrote
During recess, we would fight all the time.
Wednesday: Braking Day by Adam Oyebanji 
Friday: Appliance by J. O. Morgan 
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