new dust
Old letter, sent to my future self
With a rope, pull you back inside
A moment you can’t possibly inhabit
Carrying the CRT, VHS combo
Arm’s wrapping around twenty years ago
Dust prints settling down, just around thumb prints,
Holding heavy, the familiar sound of old notes
Toshiba with the fat back
Crackling, touching
Physical static, that was magic
Used to get my fingers stuck in the VHS combo
Like part nostalgia, part tragic
Some parts have to get carried,
Some parts stay absent
I carried my favorite parts up the stairs
But dropped some parts on the ascent
To the attic, coughing, sun’s light caught it and scattered,
Different size and shape
Looking like bacteria in a petri dish