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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?

 

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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
4 Mar 2024

Sometimes among the fish and crabs, we trawl squid and octopus, or little sharks, all added to the pots. Sometimes it’s a fish person, a thing we cut free and do not talk of, pretend we never saw. Today, it is part of a god.
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