199: We Meant for There to be More

We flitter like shopping lists and napkins in the wind, used, discarded, tools to remind ourselves of what we need. Food. Health. Across intersections, into ditches, sucked down into the sewers by pouring rain. On a covered porch an Egyptian pyramid of glass holds the papers down, seals them into its intestines until some yet unnamed scavenger or archeologist stumbles upon them, lifts the pyramid and excavates them, a reminder of a day three, five, seven months ago, a day like this, when the rain hammered down outside but inside it was warm. Dry. He decodes the symbols, finding words and numbers in the hieroglyphs of time only remembered in these lists. Reminders. Somewhere between charcoal scratches and brushed ink, we shout our words at him, the archeologist from the future, and hope that he has presence enough to hear our please for forgiveness.

---

Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

---

Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.