i cannot attach to anything in present time.

a poem about how readily i will let go.

Photo by Tyler Lastovich on Unsplash

peter piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,

but i still cannot pull ripe blackberries from their stems

without hooking my pointer finger on a protruding thorn.

once, i reached for an apple in a field of orchard trees

and my face met the ground nose-first.

more often than not, i will drop what i am holding

and it is not intentional in the slightest.

i’m convinced that old memories are taking up

too much space in my head to the point where

my motor functions are faulty.

i can recite every tongue twister they taught me

in kindergarten, but i cannot attach to anything

in present time without being the one

to let go first.

☽