By Kayla Ackelson
I’ve been collecting things.
The memory
attached to the smell of Listerine,
my grandmother’s second-floor bathroom.
I think it was pink.
And the time I spent in her home growing up.
The ache of nostalgia
for a time I didn’t experience
every time I hear “America” by Simon & Garfunkel.
The instinct to always run up basement stairs, no matter how old I get.
Flattened pennies.
Fear of crowds.
Split ends.
Other people’s narratives — some I’ve given back.
The words you said
in anger
that still sting when I am reminded of them.
Fine lines and grays.
Depeche Mode —
forever linked to that art history classroom with fluorescent lighting
and rainy days.
The belief that opened scissors left that way
are bad Feng Shui —
I can’t forget.
And while we’re at it,
putting your purse on the ground is bad for your money —
I can’t unlearn it.
Birds’ nests.
Ocean-softened rocks.
Scraps of paper with my grandfather’s handwriting.
I’ve been collecting things.
Other people’s family photos.
Squeezed lemon juice on apple slices in my packed lunch
before I leave the house for the day. Maybe to camp.
Maybe not.
I once collected the stars and the moon
but had to give them back
when I realized they weren’t who they said they were. Just space dust.
The style in which I draw my figure 8
like snowmen.
Because that’s how my dad draws them, too.
Heartache.
Because the older you get,
the more loss you inevitably experience. And therefore carry.
Quotes. Some good. Some bad. Mostly good.
My signature: K. Ackelson,
because that’s how my uncle signed before me.
The way I still pray
when I hear an ambulance drive by,
because someone I went to middle school with told me to.
I’ve been collecting things.
How the song “A Lifetime” by Better than Ezra reminds me of drives to school with my sister, whom I didn’t get along with then,
but is one of my most cherished safe people now.
I’ve been collecting things.
Super stitions and little stitions.
Quirks and qualities passed down.
Love.
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